


What Does the Blacktop Know That I Have Not Cracked with My Mind?

by the_judgmentalist



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, competing vigilantes AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23779417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_judgmentalist/pseuds/the_judgmentalist
Summary: A competing vigilantes AU.Dinah, having seamlessly taken up the mantle of Black Canary after her mom quietly passed away, keeps running into a very annoying wannabe vigilante. Sionis is on the search for the Crossbow Killer, the man who killed his best friend and now seeks to thwart his burgeoning drug empire. Helena, fresh off of her vengeance quest, is hellbent on helping clean up Gotham, but she can't seem to stop pissing off Black Canary, who seems both younger and more familiar than she should be. Can the two see eye-to-eye below the masks?
Relationships: Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance
Comments: 48
Kudos: 152





	1. I'll Calculate My Birthright

**Author's Note:**

> This is of course operating on the idea that masks - no matter how small - immutably hide the alternate identity of anyone who wears them. This is a universe where nobody can tell Bruce Wayne is Batman even though they share *that* chin. Just go with it. 
> 
> Title from The Dead Weather's "I Feel Love (Every Million Miles)"

Helena expected Black Canary to seem a little... older. She also expected her not to be at the same black market drop-off at an abandoned warehouse. But right then all she could consider was how Black Canary could kick that high when she's been around for at least 25 years, and she was wearing those tight pants. Helena was pretty impressed, more so than she was from simply reading of the vigilante's exploits in the Gotham Gazette. 

Since killing Victor Zsasz, and getting her diamond and fortune back before Roman Sionis could stake his own claim, Helena had been masquerading as the Huntress more and more, going out at night to stop these goons from their black market dealings in drugs and weapons, and worse, sometimes human cargo. She was inspired by the exploits of vigilantes like Black Canary, Poison Ivy and Catwoman. She carefully clipped stories about them from the Gotham Gazette and hung them on a cork board in her kitchen. For now, she tried not to step on their toes, dealing instead with the minor movements of forbidden cargo instead of, say, a bank robbery or the acquisition of a paralyzing nerve gas. She left that up to the big timers. Which is why she was so surprised to find Black Canary here, bringing her boot down on the colossal neck of some lackey.

“Who the fuck are you?” said Canary in between punches. She stood between two men, holding them at bay with kicks and jabs while Helena used her crossbow to take out a man who was rapidly approaching over Canary's shoulder. “Are you the fucking Crossbow Killer?” Her voice was loud, but soft and youthful and again, the opposite of what Helena expected.

“No!” Helena roared. That name was too descriptive, didn't have quite the mystery of her chosen alias. “I'm Huntress!”

“Well, Huntress, why don't you go shoot your little bow and arrow in archery class at summer camp and leave me to it?” Canary slung the words at her like she slung a punch into the gut of a nearby henchman. He was the last to go down. The alleyway seemed too quiet now that the brutalization of bodies had ended.

“I'm just helping and besides, my crossbow killed that guy,” Helena pointed at the doofus who'd run up behind Canary, “before he could get you, so, you're welcome.”

“I can handle it. The last thing Gotham needs is another vigilante. It's already hard enough to keep us all straight. Think about hanging up your crossbow and leave it to the big leagues. You got moves, but you're not needed. Don't get yourself hurt, kid.” With that, Black Canary took a running leap onto a fire escape and worked her way up from there, disappearing as she went higher into the dark.

Helena found her bike tucked away in a nearby alley and thought about Canary's words as she zipped through the late-night Gotham streets. She thought it'd be obvious that she was a trained assassin, and wasn't that alone a good enough reason to try to do good? She'd spent enough time tracking down the men who killed her family and enacting vengeance. Could every run-of-the-mill vigilante say the same? Helena liked to believe she had a claim to this “hobby.” If she was honest, she'd say she was embarrassed by Black Canary's shrugging off of her talents, her condescension. But also, surprised at her age. It still stuck with Helena. From the way the media talked about Black Canary and her storied history in Gotham, she was a vigilante legend, and had the years and scars to prove it. Sure, she was an icon, but she was also probably going on 50, if not past it. So her high kicks, her powerful punches, even her youthful voice didn't make much sense. Her tight pants, her tight--

 _Helena!_ She admonished herself in her head. It'd just been a while since she'd gone to the club to pick up someone and scratch that itch. After she killed Zsasz, she'd gone on a bit of a gleeful bender. Now she was back with her nose to the grindstone, fighting crime. Maybe she'd take the next night off and go to the club, under the guise of checking on Roman Sionis.

She'd had her eye on him for a while – obviously he and Zsasz were attached at the hip, but she'd also been interested in the man himself. She was aware he was the one she'd had to beat back from stealing her diamond and fortune. If he was behind her family's murder at all, she couldn't tell, but it was no overstatement to say that he was quickly becoming a crime epicenter in Gotham. To keep an eye on him was to keep an eye on seedy operations all over the city. She'd go the next night to his club and check things out, and if she happened to get laid, more's the better.

+++++

 _Fucking Crossbow Killer_ , thought Dinah as she snuck through her own apartment door, quiet so as not to alert her neighbors. She was nostalgic for the heyday of her mother, when there were a handful of crimefighters on the street and they all had some sort of power, some almost divine right to the job. Now any yahoo with a weapon and a little agility thought they were Superman. 

She'd only been there because Renee had tipped her off. Otherwise that kind of thing was small potatoes. Dinah guessed she couldn't begrudge that the Crossbow Killer – Huntress – was at least sticking to small gigs with which most of the big name vigilantes wouldn't bother. If Dinah saw her trying to stop Harley Quinn from robbing a bank, though, she might have to kick Huntress's ass herself.

Dinah stepped over to her mother's old record player, turning it on and tipping the needle onto a specific song. Prince's “Nothing Compares 2 U,” a favorite of her mother's. Her mother. Dinah still remembered her mom coming home from a mission just like this, taking off her cowl just like this, listening to music as she disrobed and became herself again, putting aside Black Canary. It had been maybe a month after she died before Dinah was taking up the moniker herself, fighting crime in her mother's stead. To Gotham, Black Canary never died. Just Dinah Drake. And the only world that death shook up was Dinah's.

It was just that Dinah couldn't stop hearing her mother's voice in her head. “Dinah, we were blessed with a gift. It's my duty to use it for good. What else would I do with it? You have to care for others, sweetie, or life isn't worth living.” So she took up the mantle of Black Canary, despite her doubts about her own motives, or those of her mother, for that matter. The media never knew the difference. Still, she knew she couldn't let anyone get too close. She sloughed off invitations to join vigilante groups, opportunities to pair off. She avoided all of her mother's old contacts except for Renee, who was more of a stand-in mother figure than anything nowadays. Normally Dinah would think twice about implicating someone else in her dangerous life, but it wasn't like Renee was a stranger to it all. She could handle itl, so Dinah allowed herself that one comfort. She couldn't let anyone else see that, despite the mask and costume, she was very clearly not her 52-year-old mother.

But more than that, Dinah didn't trust easily. She knew it was a problem, but it had only been two years since her mother's death. It hadn't even been a mission. As Dinah Drake walked home from her day job as a cafe waitress, she saw a man in an alley harassing a woman. She put up her dukes and fought the man, but at some point he pulled a gun and shot her, then ran away. Dinah still remembers the cops knocking at their door to tell her. Of course she remembers it. She wears it like a brand on her forehead.

But it'd only taken a month of grieving before her mother's voice in her head got too loud. Though her mother died helping people, she wouldn't have been happy to see Dinah let her death keep her from doing the same. Dinah tried to remember that when she punched some lackey's face in, and not the rage she felt inside.

The record player came to the end of the vinyl, and Dinah went to pick up the needle. Deciding to go to bed early because she had rehearsal in the club, then a gig the following night, Dinah was out before her head hit the pillow.

+++++

The club was hopping that night. Helena even thought she spotted Harley Quinn, sans Joker. 

She approached the bar to grab a whiskey, then posted up nearby, scanning the room for Roman Sionis. Luckily she didn't have to look far. He was doing his usual rounds, shaking hands, buying shots for his bigwig customers. Helena tracked his movements, knowing he wouldn't say anything of interest while glad-handing like this. She sipped her whiskey, her attention suddenly startled away from Sionis at the sound of the band coming to life. Her head whipped towards the stage, where a singer in a black swishy dress, shiny like obsidian, came to the mic. There was a sashay to her hips that looked familiar to Helena. Her voice, too, raspy when it needed to be, but soft and strong otherwise. Helena let several ill-advised moments pass just considering the woman. She couldn't imagine why no one else in the club seemed as enamored. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she saw Sionis sit in a booth with a slimy looking man, nursing a drink while they discussed. That could be important. She slowly worked her way to the rear of the club, coming up behind the booth and posting herself against the wall, concentrating fully to understand what was being said between the two men. 

“... and it'll be dropped off around midnight, two days from now. Dock 19 on the east side. I won't be there, of course,” Sionis said with his sinister laugh, “but my men can handle it.” Helena made a mental note of the time and place as the men's conversation devolved into boring egotistical one-upping of each other. Oh you have a gold car, well my skeleton is made of gold. That kind of bullshit.

Helena noticed the band had died down, and watched the singer walk offstage and to the bar. She tried not to stare, but a man immediately came over and started talking to the woman, and Helena couldn't help but be curious. She couldn't see the man's face, but she watched the woman smile, then shake her head, then put her hand up, then the smile fell. By the time the man had laid his hands on the woman's upper arm and began to squeeze, Helena was behind him. She grabbed his other arm and wrenched it behind his back until he yelped with pain and surprise and loosened his grip on the woman. 

“I don't know what's happening here exactly, but nice guys don't touch women that way. If she said no, she meant it.” She shoved the creep away. He lunged back at her with an awful punch, which she easily deflected. She brought her elbow down on his back and felled him. He rolled around a bit, then got up and left, tossing a “bitch” over his shoulder. 

“Are you OK?” she asked the other woman.

“I am now,” said the woman. She held out a hand. “Dinah Lance.”

“Helena,” she said, taking the proffered hand, pumping it once, twice, then letting go, 

“No last name?” asked Dinah.

“Nah.” 

“OK then. Helena. Do you want a drink? I feel like I owe you something after that performance.”

“Sure, I'll take a whiskey.” Dinah ordered and, unbeknownst to both women, Sionis approached from behind.

“Ladies!” he crowed. “That was quite a show here! Can I help in any way?”

“No, we're fine Roman,” Dinah said. The tension in her voice wasn't lost on Helena. “Just a fan who got a little over-excited.”

“Well, that was some fine work,” he said, addressing Helena now. “We need a new bouncer. Would you be interested? Maybe Thursday nights, every other weekend. Nothing too intense.”

Helena considered. She obviously didn't need the money, but t would be a good way to keep her ear to the ground. “Sure. I'm up for that.”

“Wonderful!” said Sionis. He clapped his gloved hands together. “Come by tomorrow, we'll sort it out.” With that, he sauntered away, but not before turning back just once. “Good job, songbird,” he said to Dinah. She turned back to the bar, frowned a bit into her drink, Helena noticed.

“He's kind of a creep right?” Helena whispered, trying to break the ice.

“You have no idea,” said Dinah. “But, well, I guess you will have some idea soon. He's not the best employer.” They sipped in silence for a moment, then Dinah procured one cigarette from her pack and slipped it behind her ear. “I'm headed to the patio. I'll see you later?”

Helena nodded. Dinah reached a hand out like she might pat Helena's shoulder, then decided instead on a decisive nod and a little wave, and with that, she was gone.

And Helena did not get laid that night.

+++++

Dinah always laughed when Renee called her Junior, but in truth, it sent a pang through her. Names were complicated; parents were even more complicated. Yeah, her mother named her after herself – Dinah Sr. and Dinah Jr. – and that didn't happen a lot nowadays. It takes a special kind of woman to think of that in the 20th century. So Dinah's relationship with her mother had been complicated. Who didn't have a complicated relationship with their mother? She loved her mother, but not everybody feels that all-encompassing softness for their parents. Dinah's mom is gone. That's complicated, too.

It takes a special kind of woman to name a daughter after herself, and it takes an even more outstanding woman to take on an alternate identity and fight crime. Dinah knows how it feels to have a special power; it's a feeling that can corrupt. She learned a lesson from her mother: Never take your power as a blank check to do and say anything you want. Don't let it become your identity, and don't develop a superiority complex. It's a gift, not an excuse for bad behavior. Sure, her mother was a good woman. She did good things. She also derived most of her self-esteem and confidence from helping other people, and it wasn't always the purest motivation. She liked the attention she got in the media. She liked it to the point where it blinded her morality, and made her shit mother. Nothing was more important than the high she got from being helpful, and from being seen being helpful. It's not a shock that her role as a mother often fell by the wayside too.

Dinah remembers countless afternoons when she'd come home from school to a note that her mother would see her the next day. She learned to cook at a very young age because the only other option was starvation or popcorn for dinner every night. She'd mention it to her mother, disparagingly bringing up friends and all the things their mothers did for them, the dinners they cooked, the time they spent. Dinah didn't need the expensive dance lessons, the shopping trips some of her friends got. She just wanted to eat dinner with her mother more than once a week, if she was lucky.

Gotham loved Black Canary. Dinah loved her mother. It was hard to reconcile the two.

+++++

Helena missed her mother's smell most of all. She doesn't remember what her mother's signature scent was, and at this point it's a vague sense memory she can never re-create. She'd go out to Macy's and snatch up the scent if she could, but she'd never had luck tracking it down. It was lost to her memory.

She could listen to the same music her mother loved, though. That was a dense connective tissue between the past and the present. She'd put on Carole King's “Tapestry” and hum along to all her mother's favorites (which, admittedly, was the whole album). She could almost hear her mother's voice singing along to “It's Too Late,” see her twirl around the room as she got ready. All of her memories of her mother were like this; soft, and sweet. A happy place in her memory. Sure, they'd fought. She'd been a preteen before the tragedy that took them all from her, and the waters between her and her mother were already starting to churn. They'd fight about Helena's extracurriculars, her friends, whether or not she was talking back. Like most preteen girls, she had a smart mouth and a tense relationship with her mother, seeing her own burgeoning femininity in this woman who, for all her similarities, didn't seem to fully get her. Who knows how that would've played out as she aged?

As it stood, all she could really ever recall was the sweet smell of her mother, the softness of her cheek when she kissed Helena good night, the wavering tone of her voice as she sang, her cooking, her attention. She refused to dwell on anything but that.

+++++

Two days after her run-in at the Black Mask club, Helena was employed as their newest bouncer. Her first day on the job was next Saturday. This night, however, was set aside to stake-out the drop-off Sionis had mentioned. She headed to the warehouse around 10 to get a good hiding spot, ready to attack despite the fact that the drop-off was scheduled for two hours later. She could wait.

As she crouched, poised, behind a stack of pallets near the right corner of the warehouse in the dull quiet, she heard a shuffling. She'd write it off as a rodent if the tread wasn't heavier. Drawing her crossbow to her chest, she pricked up her ears.

The sound continued near the entrance to the warehouse – just a light tread of boots on gravel she'd normally miss had it not been so quiet. As the footsteps approached, she slowly rounded her stack of pallets, crossbow at the ready. She was met face-to-face with Black Canary.

“Fuck. You should be more careful,” she admonished the other woman. She lowered her crossbow. “Shouldn't you know better than that?”

“I'm two hours early. That's more than enough time and I wouldn't normally worry too much about it but sure. You can be right.” She paced around, looking for the best hiding spot she could find. “Didn't I tell you to get lost like a week ago? I've got this handled,” said Black Canary.

“Tough chance. I'm staking this out. I heard about a drop-off tonight.”

“Yeah, well, me too. And I know what I'm doing so, seriously. Make tracks.”

Helena doesn't move. 

“I said, get lost,” Black Canary took a step closer. “I've got this.” She came into within range of Helena's fists, which balled up into the dangerous weapons they were. “I'm telling you, you need to leave or I'll have to make you leave.”

“Try me,” said Helena.

“Fuck you,” said Black Canary, and she gave Helena a shove, palms slapping hard against her leather jacket. Helena recovered quickly and threw a punch at Black Canary, which she dodged. Once more, Helena wondered at this woman's supposed age. Nobody over 45 was that agile, except maybe Jackie Chan. Helena remembered how much more tense her uncles got in their fighting styles as they got older, their muscles tired and bunched up no matter how much they stretched. They still packed powerful punches and had keen skills, but Helena beat them on agility every time. So, in her estimation, Black Canary was either a marvel or not who she claimed to be.

Canary gave a little grin, then twirled, trying for a roundhouse kick to Helena's chest. Helena blocked the kick with a forceful forearm, pushing to knock Black Canary on her ass. The other woman corrected her kick instead and landed like a cat on her feet. Helena aimed a strike at her neck, which was easily deflected. By now, they were outright sparring, paying little mind to what was happening around them. They exchanged blows until they were panting and heaving through their grinning mouths.

“You're not so bad for a kid,” said Black Canary. She landed a surprise kick to Helena's chest, sending the woman reeling. When she caught herself from falling and bounced back on her feet, Canary gave her a look of surprise and halting admiration. 

“Not a kid,” Helena grit out. “You're not so bad for a veteran.”

“Hmm,” Canary hummed. “You calling me old?” She blocked a punch with her elbow.

“Never,” said Helena, aiming a jab at her stomach that was easily deflected with Canary's open palm, the smack resounding through the empty cavern of a room. “Just a bit rusty.” 

Then came a shout from the front of the warehouse. “Shit!” hissed Canary. She and Helena went scrambling for separate hiding spots behind nearby stacks of pallets. Helena pulled her crossbow to her shoulder, ready for a fight.

“How long do we gotta wait for this shit?” said the goon whose shout they heard.

“Not long,” said the second. “They moved up the drop time an hour. Should be here by 11.” Helena cursed herself for her idiocy in getting caught up fighting Canary when she didn't fully know the plan. They could've been in for a much nastier surprise than what they got.

She glimpsed over at the other woman's hiding spot and caught her eye. They exchanged grimaces, thinking the same rueful thoughts.

They all waited in tense quiet, Helena and Canary from their hiding spots, the two lackeys shuffling around the open warehouse, exchanging egotistical stories about fights they'd been in recently. The warehouse was hot and muggy, the air like soup, and Helena's palms sweat in their gloves. The men both removed their jackets and rolled up their sleeves, loosened their ties. She swore she saw Black Canary undo the top button of her shirt, but she was very much trying not to notice.

Eleven swiftly approached and a call came from the front of the warehouse. The two men shuffled to meet two new goons who were carrying a large crate between them; Helena could see three more crates behind. The first two men went to gather their own crate and followed behind. They dumped the loot then went back in pairs to fetch the last of the cargo. Helena tried to catch Canary's eye but she eluded her every time. Were they going to tag team this one?

“What do we have here?” asked one of the first two henchmen, the one with a pocket square. Helena could hear crowbars cracking open the wood of a crate. “What the fuck is this?” He pulled out a bean bag stuffed animal, like the Beanie Babies Helena remembered kids in her elementary school losing their tiny minds over. “Stuffed animals?”

“No!” said one of the men, guffawing in audacity. Helena heard a knife on fabric, rending a hole. She watched as this new man held his fingers to pocket square's nose, could see that they were coated with a light powder. 

“Oh! Well that's not beans, that's for sure,” said pocket square. The other three men laughed.

“I'll tell you what is a hill of beans,” Helena heard from her right. Black Canary was rounding the stack of pallets that had made up her hiding place. “This conversation.”

She ran to the closest man and threw a hook right into his bread basket. He doubled over and she put her boot on the back of his neck, forcing him to the ground, then giving him a kick to the side. The other three men were closing in on her now. “Little help here?” Helena heard her ask. Surely she was asking Helena for help. Surely. Yeah, that's it. Fuck. Helena hoped her hesitation hadn't cost them any crucial time. She raced out from her hiding space, quickly sending an arrow through the throat of one of the men, kicking the other away, then sending an arrow into his eye. Canary kept the fourth man at bay while her first victim lay on the ground, unconscious. 

“Sorry, I didn't think you wanted me around,” said Helena.

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day. I could use your help right now. Doesn't mean you need to go around to every crime scene you can find, provoke every goon you come across.” With a roundhouse to the head, she felled her opponent, and the two women stood with four men at their feet.

“What now? I usually just stake out these situations, maybe put up a fight if it'll help. This is my first drug bust.” 

“I'd tell you to get lost if I didn't need your help. Purpose of this is keeping drugs out of Gotham, yeah?” Canary asked. Helena nodded. “Good. So we dump them. In the bay. Which may be why all of our fish are addicts, but I didn't sign up to help them, right?” She and Helena worked to carry each crate to the edge of the water, tossed them one by one over the side of the concrete embankment. They watched them sink, then Canary turned on her heel and walked away. 

“Let's not make this a habit!” she shot over her shoulder. Helena didn't know if it was a habit so much as an addiction.

+++++

That Saturday, Dinah showed up at the Black Mask club around 8, ready for her evening show and giving herself ample time for warm-up. She noticed Sionis puttering around in the back next to a tall woman … Helena. She remembered her from the previous weekend. She'd helped her with that creep and landed a bouncer job. Dinah made a mental note to find her later and say hi.

Before she could even make it back to her dressing room, though, Roman spotted her. Dinah grimaced as he made his way over, Helena trailing behind, a little smile on her face. “Miss Lance! You remember Miss Helena Burton, right?”

“Burton, huh? Yeah, I remember,” Dinah said with a smile just for Helena. 

“Good!” said Sionis, clapping his hands once. “Well, I'll leave you to it for now, until we open. Have a drink, warm up, whatever. I'll be here.” With that he left, going to talk to some lackey who'd appeared at the corner of the club and was waving his boss over.

“He's so fucking weird,” said Helena with a smile in her voice and on her face in case he looked back. Dinah couldn't stop the burst of laughter that erupted from her, though she tried hard to hold it back. Sionis didn't take kindly to misplaced laughter sometimes, usually suspecting it was about himself. At least it was better now that Zsasz wasn't around to stoke the fires of his anger.

“Stop! He doesn't like laughter,” Dinah said, partly joking.

“Really? I could see that, actually,” said Helena. They stood in silence for a moment, regarding one another. “How long have you worked here?” asked Helena.

“For about two years. It's a good gig. Don't get to make money singing just anywhere.”

“You have an amazing voice,” Helena said. Dinah blushed. Damn her, she never seemed to blush anymore. Compliments about her singing were as frequent as a Sionis outburst.

“Thank you.” Silence overtook them as their attention shifted to Sionis in the corner, having one of said outbursts.

“You don't know where the cargo is?!” he yelled at his goon, who shook his head. “How could this happen? It's four crates! How do you misplace four massive crates?! And four men, for that matter.” He was behind the bar now, causing a ruckus while he mixed a drink. “They've either disappeared or shown up dead from a crossbow. Fucking crossbow! I'll tear down all of Gotham to find that god forsaken Crossbow Killer. First Zsasz, now this?” He angrily jostled a cocktail shaker in the air. “I'll have his head.”

Across the room, Dinah and Helena exchanged glances. Helena tried to quickly wipe the self-satisfied smirk from her face before Dinah could see, but she wasn't sure how successful she was at that. She couldn't believe she'd raised Sionis's hackles that bad. 

Sionis has made his drink and was grumbling off elsewhere. Helena shook herself out of the stare she'd fixed on Dinah. “He doesn't seem too fond of this Crossbow Killer, does he?”

“Well he made a bit of a name for himself killing a bunch of notorious mob bosses around the city, big-name mercenaries and the like, and finally for killing Victor Zsasz. He used to work here too. Roman's right-hand man. They were close, to say the least,” Dinah said. They were headed back to Dinah's dressing room before Helena even realized what was happening. “Since then Sionis has been terrified of him, if you ask me. But according to him, he's hellbent on killing the guy. Sounds like now he has an extra reason. Didn't foresee Crossbow thwarting drug shipments, too, but who else is shooting people with a bow and arrow out there?”

“Well, Green Arrow, for one. And a crossbow isn't a bow and arrow. It's fired with a trigger and usually much smaller. Less like a kid's toy,” Helena defended. Dinah looked at her skeptically, sat down at a vanity.. “And … drugs? Is this place a front for drugs?”

Dinah rolled her eyes. “No. I've never seen anything like that here. But Sionis has some shady dealings, so I wouldn't have put it past him. And now we know. Guy's a drug smuggler. It's Gotham, though, so who isn't?” Dinah lit a cigarette, and Helena pulled out a chair, twirling it around to straddle it backwards.

“True. I smuggle at least once a week,” Helena said in a trademark deadpan. It got a surprised smile from Dinah.

“Oh, you've got jokes now? Interesting,” Dinah said with a grin.

The two women spoke for a bit before Dinah begged off to go warm up. Helena headed out to the club floor, hoping to find a way to stay useful, or a conversation she could catch. Unsuccessful, she decided to post up at what would be her normal spot outside the front door and listen to whatever dregs of conversation might float over from the other employees on the front smoking porch.

Her first night on the job went off without a hitch, other than a small bar fight. She didn't see Dinah's set, but waved at her as she left for the evening. Soon Helena would go home too, taking the night off from crime fighting. Besides, her dropping of eaves led to a hint about another drug drop-off that Tuesday night. She'd definitely check that out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Man Size" by PJ Harvey


	2. Sweet-Talking, Night-Walking Games

This was beginning to get ridiculous, Dinah thought. This was the third time in two weeks that she'd shown up for a mission to find Huntress there. Now, less of her was scared for the girl who could obviously hold her own in a fight. But she preferred to work alone. She worried that Huntress would figure out her secret identity beneath her secret identity. It was a lot of plates to juggle; Dinah just hoped it wouldn't catch up with her.

“You again, Crossbow?” asked Dinah. The name reminded her of Sionis's hatred of the woman, a figure he thought to be a man. Maybe that mix-up would save her in the end, but there weren't a lot of crossbow vigilantes in Gotham.

“Huntress, and yes. There's another drug drop-off here tonight,” the masked woman said.

“Well, Huntress, you know what I'm going to say.”

“Get lost?”

Dinah nodded, smiled. “You're catching on! Now beat it.” Huntress just smiled at her and stayed in her spot.

They worked together that night, throwing punches, kicks and arrows until six men lay at their feet. They disposed of the drugs in the harbor again, together, like last time.

“We make a pretty good team,” said Huntress as they watched the last crate sink into the bay.

Dinah was silent for a moment, considering. “I won't deny I appreciate your help. I can handle myself but it's nice to go home a little less bruised than normal. But you put me in danger,” said Dinah, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Nobody knows Huntress, but the Crossbow Killer is a different story. Sionis is hellbent on seeing you dead. I can't have that gumming up my missions.”

“He thinks I'm a man, though. That should keep him off the scent. And I can hold my own against Sionis. I'm not afraid of him.”

“Well you should be. He's got a lot of manpower.” Huntress scoffed and shrugged. “Whatever,” said Dinah. “It's your funeral. Just be careful. Maybe I'll see you.” With that, she walked off, leaving Huntress staring into the water again.

+++++

As she biked home, Helena considered Black Canary's words. Sionis was on her trail. That wasn't surprising. It was, however, a problem. She'd just have to be more careful, more vigilant. She wasn't stopping her missions. The only thing that had been half as satisfying as burying her arrows in the necks of all the men who killed her family was watching Sionis's crates of drugs sink into the harbor. It didn't hurt that Black Canary was at her side. Helena wasn't joking when she said they made a good team. Normally she wouldn't consider teaming up with someone, but like Canary had said, it was nice going home a little less bruised up than normal. And Helena liked her energy, her talents. She'd accepted now that Canary wasn't who she said she was; she was clearly younger than Black Canary was supposed to be. Helena reasoned maybe more than one person was behind the mask. It made sense, and it wasn't unheard of … how many Robins had Bruce Wayne collected, putting them in the same damn costume like they weren't different boys? Still there was something so familiar about the woman, Helena thought. She steered her bike home and let herself wonder at the conundrum of Black Canary, picking at that knot while she tried not to become consumed by thoughts of the other vigilante's tight pants.

+++++

Dinah was worried about Huntress. Since the second batch of drugs had wound up in the bay and Sionis found out about his dead henchmen, pincushioned with crossbow arrows, he'd been on a war path. She knew the other vigilante could hold her own, but then Sionis changed the game.

Dinah walked into work that afternoon, only to be greeted with a mass of huge men, creepy looking men, sleazy men and other human detritus grouped around the club while Sionis proselytized to them. “Men! The time has come!” he bellowed, arms outstretched. “Today I am putting a bounty on the Crossbow Killer's head. Bring him to me, alive or dead, and I'll give you $500K. No questions asked, just his head on my table and the money is yours!” The men cheered. “Good men! Now, the first round of the evening is on me!” At that, Dinah hightailed it to her dressing room before getting lost in the fray of enormous, drunk men.

Fuck, thought Dinah. Huntress could hold her own, but against a wave of men like the one she'd just waded through, hellbent on a sizable cash prize? Who could withstand that? Luckily nobody seemed to know where to find her, and they still thought they were looking for a man, so she had the benefit of secrecy. Still, Dinah hoped for the first time that she saw Huntress soon, so she could warn her. Damn this soft spot she seemed to have developed for the woman, but it was what she'd do for any stranger on the street. Being a vigilante for justice didn't stop when it came to other vigilantes. It wasn't something Dinah may have said two weeks ago, but here she was, worried about Huntress and hoping to see her again.

+++++

Helena had taken to skulking around the copse of warehouses where these drug drop-offs kept happening, figuring she'd run into some trouble eventually. That night was particularly quiet. Even the waves lapped gently at the embankment near the industrial park. She slunk around the perimeter in a crouch, crossbow drawn. Every corner she turned, she turned with trepidation, weapon at the ready. This corner was no different, but she turned it and was shocked to see Black Canary staring back at her. 

“You know I could've killed you, right?” Helena asked.

“Yeah, you're not too quick on the draw there, killer,” said Black Canary. “Need to work on that.”

“What are you doing here? I'm just patrolling. There's no drop-off.”

“Do you have a life?” Asked Black Canary with a grin. When Helena neglected to respond, the grin fell off her face. “Actually, I was looking for you.”

“You were?” Helena asked, a small smile gracing her lips. Maybe Black Canary was as preoccupied with her as she was with the other vigilante.

“Yeah, well, Sionis has put a bounty on your head. $500,000 to whichever goon can catch you first. Dead or alive.”

“Fuck,” said Helena. She heaved a breath and leaned against the wall of the warehouse for a moment. 

“So be careful,” Black Canary finished.

“You don't want the money?” Asked Helena. It was all she could focus on, thoughts of a gang of men looking for her too hard to process at that moment. Why didn't Canary want the money?

Black Canary scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Of course I don't. I'm a good guy. I don't need any money that comes from the suffering of someone else. Thought you'd've understood that by now.” She crossed her arms, started to walk off.

“Wait!” said Helena. She shot a hand out to halt Canary's movements, fingers brushing her shoulder. It was the first time they'd made contact that wasn't a punch or a chop. The other woman stalled, boots crunching up gravel. “I'm sorry. Of course you don't want the money. I just thought you hated me. Might be a good excuse to get rid of me.”

“Well I may think you're a pain, a kid who needs to screw her head onto her shoulders a bit better. But I'm not going to throw over another do-gooder. You want this place to be clean like I do. I know that. I... I respect that, I guess,” Canary said, arms still tightly crossed over her chest.

“Thanks,” said Helena. “I'm glad you can see that. I just want to help.”

Silence for a moment, and Helena regarded Black Canary. She saw a look of slight confusion on her face. Then Canary reached out a fist, lightly punching Helena's shoulder.

“Be careful out there. I'll see you around,” said Canary. She turned on her boot heel and walked away into the quiet of the night.

Helena was left with her words. Any sane person would be sufficiently scared away from a life of crime fighting at knowing an evil millionaire had you in his crosshairs. Helena knew she wasn't sane, but was this the chance to cut and run? She thought about how much fun she'd had the past few times, fighting alongside Black Canary. She thought of how many bags of dope they'd put in the harbor, and how many kids wouldn't be sucked into a life of drugs because of her. The tactics were obvious, hiding them in bean bag animals, meant to be traded amongst kids. Helena couldn't stop now. She thought of her little brother, Pino, and how much promise he had. She would have done anything to keep him from turning to drugs, if that had been a reality. She would do anything to have him back now. Helena thinks that's almost the same thing. No, she won't let other families lose their children, no matter what age. If she can do anything to stop it, she will. Bounty be damned.

+++++

 _Black Canary's New Tag Team Partner?_ read the metro page of the Gotham Gazette. The article questioned whether she and Huntress were a team, after having spied them on their most recent dust ups, cleaning up filth together. According to whoever wrote this piece, the two had to be a crimefighting duo because team-ups were all the rage now and because Black Canary hadn't worked with anyone in recent years, despite having done so for decades up to that point. She was always embroiled with some new league of justice or whatever, Dinah thought of her mother. Sometimes it was hard not to think of Black Canary as someone else, not herself.

Dinah wasn't exactly upset about this misunderstanding, thinking she and Huntress were a team. It made sense in some ways. The papers were always publishing things like this about superheroes and vigilantes who happened to be in the same room at the same time. They were the celebrities of Gotham City. Of course, Dinah was worried about the reality of the very public perception that she might be in league with Huntress. In fact, the article referred to her as Crossbow Killer, not Huntress. Dinah repressed a small smile at Huntress's inability to get her name out there properly. She clearly hated being called Crossbow Killer. But more importantly, would Black Canary get blowback from this? The last thing she needed was to be harassed by some goons who wanted to know how she knew Crossbow Killer, where they were now, who were they, all that shit. Fuck that'll be a pain in the ass, she thought. It was almost an inevitability now. She wasn't about to stop fighting crime because she knew her mother's voice in her head wasn't about to quiet down. And as long as it spoke up, she'd show up.

+++++ 

_Black Canary's New Tag Team Partner?_

Helena clipped the article out of the Gotham Gazette and added it to her cork board. She thought it was hilarious, but only because it would certainly piss off Black Canary. There was no escaping the little chuckle that came out at the thought of Canary's snappy comeback to the article, her indignant tone.

On the other hand, it was a thrill to see about herself in print. She doesn't at all need accolades, she just wants to know in her own heart that she's doing the right thing. But there's a certain excitement that goes up her spine seeing her name – well, fucking Crossbow Killer's name – in the Gotham Gazette right next to Black Canary's, right where Catwoman and Poison Ivy and Batman were mentioned. It was just a testament to the good work she was doing, not some shrine to her own talents only meant to puff up her ego. She took from it that she was helping out, and that was enough.

She wondered if Canary was mad to be thought of in the same vein as a rookie. Maybe she hoped people bought into the theory that Helena was her new sidekick. Certainly having a sidekick was a veteran move in the vigilante business, right? Maybe it was a status symbol. Maybe she wouldn't be mad. The worst that could happen was...

Fuck.

The worst that could happen is that the attention, this connection in print, would spur Sionis and his men to go after Black Canary to find the Crossbow Killer. She couldn't be the reason for harm coming Canary's way. She'd just have to distance herself as best as she could, not insinuate herself on battles that weren't hers. If they happened to be at a drop-off at the same time, or a stake-out, she'd just have to do her own dealings in more secrecy, stay at arms-length. Stay away from Canary so there were no more photos of them side-by-side, looking heroic, in the Gotham Gazette. That would do it.

+++++

“So who's this new partner of yours? The Crossbow Killer? Not much of a name,” said Renee. She and Dinah had gone for coffee before her gig that night.

“That's just some bunk the Gazette made up. Don't believe everything you read, Renee. You know better than that.”

Renee rolled her eyes, reached over to take a pinch of Dinah's banana nut muffin, popped it in her mouth.

“Dinah, you know your alter ego needs to stay away from people or they'll find out. You know the press will have a field day and all the old crooks with vendettas against your mother will take it as carte blanche to gun for you. And besides, Crossbow Killer is a killer. And Sionis wants his head on a pike. Don't fuck around with that.”

“Her.”

“What?”

“Her head on a pike. You said 'his.' The Crossbow Killer is a woman.”

“Wow,” said Renee. “That's actually kind of shocking. What'll be more shocking? The shit coming your way if you don't listen to me,” said Renee. She took the fingers she'd been pointing at Dinah and directed them to her muffin again, pinching off another bite. Dinah scooted the plate towards her.

“You're right but what can I do? She shows up at these drop-offs, we fight the same criminals. I can try to keep the distance, keep the paps from getting a good shot but that's about it. I'm not going to stop this gig because of it. I won't stop tracking Sionis and his men and their drug crimes. I can't stop it. She won't let me,” Dinah said, referring to the voice of her mother in her head. She took a sip of her coffee to still her now-shaky hands.

“I get it. You do what you have to. Just be careful. There's a line between being nice and being so nice it kills you. Show a little self-preservation when it matters, OK kid?” Renee smacked her shoulder. 

“Will do.”

+++++

Helena still thought twice that night about going out on the prowl. Canary's word's echoed in her head. Sionis put a hit out on her. That was the cold, hard truth. It wasn't like her hobby wasn't dangerous, she knew it was. But now it was almost like a death sentence. She could hold her own, but how many men would be coming for her? And where? They could come from any direction. That was the scary part. Constant vigilance was her best friend now.

But still she was here, prowling the industrial park for the next drop-off. She still hadn't discerned from Sionis's loose lips where the next drop-off was, or when, so keeping an eye on things as much as she could seemed the only option. No sign of Canary that night. Not yet.

Helena was walking the inside perimeter of one of the warehouses, checking leftover cargo to make sure there weren't any drugs being stored between drop-offs. Nothing so far. Suddenly, the slamming of car doors. The cacophony of voices. Shit. She could hear at least five men approaching, the sound of more cars doors shutting signaling the presence of even more. They were loud, joyous almost. This was not good.

“Hey Crossbow Killer! We heard you might be here!” one of the men called out. The others laughed. Helena swore she heard a few guns cocking. She was stuck crouched next to a low crate she'd been checking out, with little cover around. Shifting her weight, she walked in her crouch pose to find better cover behind a taller stack of pallets nearby, hoping she could make it the distance without drawing attention.

She could hear the men tearing apart crates, kicking pallets aside looking for her.

“Let's split off and check the other two warehouses,” said one of the men. 

“OK, five to this one, five to another. We'll get to the third when we're done here,” said the first voice she'd heard. “Go!”

Now there were five men. She could probably take them, but the guns scared her. Her vest was bulletproof but there was no accounting for a headshot. Her mask wouldn't stop that. Plus the sound would bring the other five men running. Still, she had no choice. She prepped herself mentally to shoot her way out, pulling her crossbow to her chest.

Just as she was about to jump out and start attacking, she heard another voice from the front of the warehouse. This one definitely belonged to a woman.

“Hey shit birds! Looking for something?” It was Black Canary.

“Oh, Black Canary!” said one of the men. “What a treat!”

“I'm about to treat your ass to dinner, and I'm going to wipe your plate clean,” said Black Canary. The sound of the men clicking the safety on their guns, cocking the hammers drew Helena out of her stupor. She emerged from her hiding spot, crossbow drawn.

“And I'll bring dessert. Hope you like knuckle sandwiches,” she said. She hoped she sounded half as cool as Canary. “They're like ice cream sandwiches, but with my knuckles.” OK, not so cool.

Two men peeled off to exchange shots with her; she felled one easily with a bolt from her crossbow, but the other kept shooting. She could see Canary taking on three others with a baseball bat. It looked like hard work. She was barely holding them at bay. Helena took a moment, crouched behind the cover of burlap sacks as the bullets hit them, stirring up some kind of grain to float in the air around her head. She took aim at one of the men fighting Canary and took him down, heedless to the spray of bullets coming towards her, pelting into her hiding place. Now Canary was left fighting two men. They had to work fast before the other five came running back in. The mere distance between the two warehouses was their only hope.

Helena was finally able to take down her assailant. Since one of the first things Canary had done was disarm the three men fighting her and kick their guns across the floor, the gunshots had ceased entirely. Now faced with two men, Canary was holding her own just fine. Helena took a breath, then came out from cover, firing one, two shots into the faces of their unsuspecting opponents. They lay at their feet.

“Good work,” said Canary. The praise made heat spread across Helena's chest, up her cheeks. Coming from Black Canary, it was quite the compliment.

Just then, the five other men came storming through the door, guns drawn. They examined the situation, and one started firing. Helena and Canary were able to jump behind some crates before the bullets made contact. 

“Fuck,” said Canary. “Lost the element of surprise on this one, didn't we?”

“Yep. What do you propose? I know what I think,” Helena said. The spray of bullets continued around them.

“Canary cry?” The other woman asked. Helena nodded, grinned. Canary rolled her eyes. “Cover your ears.”

Once she was sure Helena's ears were covered, Canary bounded up and, thrusting her arms to her side, chest out, let out the loudest wail Helena had ever heard, even with her hands over her ears. Waves of sonic vibration took out all five men at once, their bodies thudding to the ground, guns clattering.

“Oh fuck, that was so cool to see in real life!” Helena said. There was no answer. “Canary?” Still no answer.

Helena got up to check on the other woman, finding her collapsed. Helena thought she remembered reading something about this; how the Canary cry knocked Black Canary out almost every time she used it. Without stopping to think, Helena pulled Canary into her arms and lifted her, like a baby, onto the pile of burlap sacks nearby. “Canary? Wake up, please,” she tapped the other woman's cheek with two fingers. “Come on, before these buffoons wake up. Please.”

She stood by Canary for a good five minutes, poking and prodding and pleading with her to wake up before she finally did. Shaking her head groggily, Canary rose from her makeshift bed. “How long was I out?”

“Not long. That's an unfortunate side effect,” said Helena.

“You're telling me. Did we get 'em?”

“You bet we did. Should we go now? Before they wake up?”

“Yeah. Hey, let's do this together next time," Canary said, rising to dust herself off, "You're doing good work. I don't want you to do it alone. I know what's going on with Sionis and I don't care that much. All the more reason for some extra help, right?” Canary asked with a calm smile.

“No, I can't do that to you. I'm supposed to keep my distance, to keep us out of the Gazette, keep Sionis away from you. You're a one-woman superhero dynasty,” said Helena, pushing aside her suspicions that Canary wasn't who she appeared to be. “I can't be responsible for that coming to an end.”

“If I'm not already on Sionis's shit list for this, I'd be surprised. I'd say it's too late for us not to be in cahoots. They already think we are. If we join up, we actually get the benefits of a partnership. So let's do this again, two nights from now. I'll meet you here, around 10?”

Helena considered. She really couldn't handle the guilt that would come with Canary coming to harm, but the woman could clearly handle herself. If anything, Helena would be helping by being there after she used her cry. Together, they made sense.

“OK. Two days from now. 10 pm. I can do that.”

+++++

Dinah walked into work to a now familiar scene. Sionis perched on stage with his lackeys, a group of enormous, sleazy men, gathered to hear him preach. This couldn't be good.

“Men! Last night we made a delightful discovery. Johnno, get up here. Johnno has something wonderful to report.”

A thick man in a tight white oxford shirt came onto the stage. He looked vaguely familiar, and his ears were bandaged, with bright red spots of blood decorating the white gauze.

“Yeah, see, Crossbow Killer is a lady. Got a good look at her last night. Not a man. Also, Black Canary was helping her.” He paused. “That's it.”

“Thank you, Johnno, that was very informative. So yes!” Sionis clapped. “We're looking for a woman. Don't be afraid to exercise force, regardless. And! We now know she's in cahoots with Black Canary, so gird your ears, gentlemen! We'll bring them both down, I know it! Now, get out there and make me proud, boys.”

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” Dinah muttered as she made her way to her dressing room. Dropping her keys on her vanity, she gathered a cigarette from the pack and lit it with shaking fingers. She knew what she as getting into, she did. But that didn't make the reality any less scary. And maybe she underestimated just how nerve-wracking it would be to work as herself, as Dinah Lance, amongst this den of jerks who wanted her dead. It was the terrifying reality of having two aliases. Keeping them straight and hoping they were strong enough to get you through the close calls.

Hopefully hers would save her this time, and she could live to fight another day. Now she just had to pretend to be Dinah Lance, aloof singer with whom you should not fuck, and put aside Black Canary, dangerous singer and vigilante with whom you should not fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Queen Bitch" by David Bowie


	3. I Grew up in the Shoes They Told Me I Could Fill

Dinah couldn't help but think the new bouncer was hot. She'd been nursing a micro crush ever since the woman saved her from that creep – not that Dinah couldn't have handled that on her own, it was just that some chivalry was nice to see – but the three or four nights in which their schedules had crossed, she found herself drawn in by the woman's dark curls and eyes. When they spoke, it was easy, fluid, like they'd known each other for years. It was nice to have a compatriot at the club, where Dinah was often the only woman. It was nicer having it be Helena, with her black wardrobe and dry humor, her quips about Sionis. Yeah, Dinah was into it. She'd admit that. She had a soft spot for the girl.

She also seemed to have a soft spot for Huntress. They were strictly colleagues but Dinah couldn't suppress this want, this need to not see Huntress hurt. Maybe it was just so nice having a partner that the comfort of it had lulled her into a sense of false security. Maybe she was just happy not to require stitches from herself after every mission. It was so much easier to keep things under control with another person, and the way they fought together was a dance, like a waltz of violence. It was intoxicating, to say the least. There was also the reality that she had to keep her identity a secret, no matter what. If Huntress caught on that she wasn't hardened veteran Black Canary and was instead her daughter, then the media could know, and then, like Renee said, she'd have all of her mom's old adversaries after her, drawn in by her youth and rookie status, sensing weakness like a shark smelling blood in the water. It wasn't an option with which she wanted to contend.

There was a knock at her dressing room door and, as if she'd been summoned by Dinah's thoughts, there stood Helena.

“Hey, tough guy. How's it going?” Asked Dinah, trying to appear normal though, now acknowledged, her crush loomed over them like an awkward canopy.

Helena blushed; Dinah could watch the blood spread through her cheeks. Interesting.

“Unfortunately Roman has had the wonderful idea of checking his entire staff for a wire. He's convinced someone here is leaking information to the Crossbow Killer, or the cops,” Helena said.

“That fucking moron,” said Dinah, heaving a sigh. “Thanks for the heads up. So who's he got doing the checking?”

“Even more unfortunately, that would be me. I've already had to pat down two bartenders. It wasn't an enjoyable experience for me,” she replied with a grimace. 

“Well I hope this will be more enjoyable,” said Dinah. Shit, that was the exact wrong thing to say. Helena's face was red hot now. Still, Dinah was rewarded with the most shockingly girlish giggle from the other woman, and she herself grinned past the awkwardness.

“I'd imagine so. Hopefully you won't ask me to grab your junk while I'm down there like Steve did,” said Helena.

“I'll try to contain myself,” said Dinah. She watched as Helena nervously tucked a curl behind her ear. “So how do you want me?” Helena's mouth gaped open, shut, gaped open, shut like a fish. Dinah laughed, dimples on full blast. Deciding to have a little fun with the other woman, Dinah lifted her shirt to just below her bra. “See, no wire. Does that help?” She did a turn so Helena could see her back, too, biting her lip to suppress a wicked grin as she faced the wall.

“That's, uh,” Dinah could hear Helena gulp as she turned back around, lowered her shirt. “That's good. Thanks. I can just tell Roman we're good.”

“Don't you have to pat me down? I thought that was standard operating procedure.”

“Yeah, but... I saw. You're not wearing a wire.”

“I don't want special treatment.” Dinah was having the best time fucking with this woman. She was so flustered, and it stood in stark contrast to her tough exterior. It was adorable, to say the least.

“Of course,” Helena seemed to mentally dust herself off, standing up straighter. “OK, spread your legs a little.” Dinah did so, and Helena crouched to pat up one leg, stopping around the top of her thigh, then patting down the other. Dinah could see her blush on the tips of her ears where they peeked out from that shaggy hair. “Raise your arms,” she said, and Dinah t-posed, legs still apart like she was halfway through a jumping jack. Helena's hands skimmed up her sides lightly, and Dinah swore she could feel her breath skirt across her face as she stood up straight, coming closer, hands tracing Dinah's arms. The singer's heart skipped a beat, the traitor.

Helena briefly cupped both of her shoulders, her fingers then snaking up into Dinah's hair, behind her ears. It was the closest Dinah had gotten to someone who wasn't trying to kill her in months. Well, other than the occasional awkward as fuck hug from Renee.

The second Helena had finished her pat down, she took one enormous step back from Dinah. “Yeah, no wire. You're good. I'll mark you off the list,” she said, staring resolutely at the ground like a scolded dog. 

“Thanks for your thorough safekeeping of the club,” Dinah said. Damn if Helena didn't swipe all of her suaveness away. The other woman finally met her eye with a bashful smile, then backed out of the room. Dinah collapsed into a nearby chair and lit a cigarette. Wow.

\+ + + + +

So Helena might be into the singer at work. She was definitely flirting with her. Or so Helena thought, trying to quell the voice in her head saying she was being too vain. No, Dinah Lance was flirting with her. And Helena didn't think she was making up just how flustered Dinah seemed when she patted her down, her hand trailing up and down her legs and arms. It had been the single most erotic experience Helena had in a while. Pretty sad that it only happened because of her job. Helena made a mental note to perhaps flirt with the woman some more, see what came of it. That is, if she could flirt. She'd never been particularly good at it in the past, instead relying on sleeveless shirts and dark, mysterious makeup to draw in potential paramours. It usually worked. Maybe she'd wear a tank top to work next time.

Regardless of how Dinah might feel about her flirtations, it was nice to have someone to joke around with. Helena really only ever got that with Black Canary nowadays, and they weren't exactly flirtatious. Plus, the club made her a bit uneasy, so it was especially helpful to have a supposed lifeline in Dinah, someone she could hopefully trust. Not that Helena trusted anyone, but speaking relatively, she supposed she could “trust” Dinah eventually.

But now that Black Canary had entered her thoughts, Helena could only think about their new partnership. They were set to meet the next day at 10 to patrol the warehouses again. Helena felt like they were just posing as bait for more of Roman's men, but at least they were thwarting his plans to inundate Gotham with drugs, and the more men they took down, the stronger their message was: Don't fuck with us. Helena loved the thought of Sionis going home at night, tortured with thoughts of her and how she was besting him. It was encouraging to get under the skin of someone so evil. Speak of the devil, Roman passed her as she headed for the front of the club, ready to post up for the night and do her job. 

“Helena! Good luck tonight! Great work!” he said as they passed, Helena leaning away from him like they were opposing sides of a magnet. 

“You too,” Helena mumbled. God that guy was a creep.

\+ + + + +

For once, Dinah was the one to show up first at the warehouse. It was 9:45, so she was early. She was anxious to get it over with, anxious with the thought of the hulking men who could come to find them. Still, she wanted to keep her promise to Huntress, team up to keep each other safe. Besides, she could always use her cry and, for once, count on someone to be there for her afterwards. They would be fine.

Huntress arrived five minutes later, a bit early herself. If she was surprised to find Dinah already there, she didn't show it. She greeted Dinah with a smile. “So, what do you suggest we do tonight?”

“I was thinking we could continue to scan these warehouses for leftover drug cargo, and see what happens. Let's stick together.”

They searched the first warehouse, opening crates and peeking in burlap sacks. Some of the burlap sacks had flour in them, huge sacks meant for industrial bakeries. Huntress wasn't convinced the flour wasn't a drug. “I'm telling you, it could be cocaine,” she said. 

Dinah stuck her finger into the powder, popped it in her mouth, gagged a bit. “No, definitely flour.” Huntress stared at her, mouth agape.

“What if that had been cocaine?” she asked, scandalized. 

“Then we'd know it was cocaine,” said Dinah with a smirk.

They continued searching, coming up with nothing, then decided to check the next warehouse. “What if we don't turn up anything?” asked Huntress. “Should we just do this every night until something happens?”

“I'm working on getting some intel from my connection at the police station, see if there's any clues as to where else we might strike,” said Dinah.

“This is why you're a veteran. I have no connections,” said Huntress.

“I've known this woman almost my entire life,” said Dinah, thinking of the days when she called Renee Aunt Renee. The cop would kill her if she called her that now.

“So we can trust her?”

“Of course we can. She said they've been tailing Sionis a bit but aren't taking it that seriously. He's greased a few palms down at the station. So she gives me info and trusts me to follow up on it. The cops in this town are so corrupt. That's why Gotham needs us,” said Dinah.

The silence consumes them for a few moments. “Is that why you do this?” asked Huntress. “Because corrupt cops?”

“Partly. It runs in the family, too,” said Dinah with some trepidation. She wasn't going to say anything else.

“Ah, I see,” said Huntress.

“And why do you do it?”

“Also a family thing, I guess you could say. I like keeping kids safe.”

“Me too,” said Dinah. She overturned the lid of a nearby crate. “Oh, jackpot.” Inside was just straw.

“Jackpot my ass,” said Huntress, leaning over to peer in the box. Dinah laughed. “This is pointless.” 

“Want to go fuck up some other criminals? I'm sure something's going on. We could go downtown near the banking district and find some dumbass trying a vault robbery.”

“God, I'd love that. Can we take my bike?”

With that, they're zipping through town, Dinah's hands delicately fixed around Huntress's waist as her heart races.

When they get downtown, there's already a robbery in progress, a smoking door blown off its hinges and security guards lying limp outside the bank. Huntress parks her bike and they enter, fists at the ready.

It's Harley Quinn.

“Hey dorks! It's about time someone showed up!” Yelled Harley from the vault. She was filling duffel bags with stacks of cash. Huntress and Canary both ran at her, but Harley was ready, flipping above their heads and swinging her bat in a circle they both barely missed. “You're gonna have to try harder than that!” She kept them at bay with her bat for a while, Huntress landing at least one punch. For the most part, it was not going well. Finally a well-aimed kick from Dinah sent Harley's bat flying. Huntress landed a one-two punch to Harley's jaw, sending the woman reeling. But as she stood up, she revealed a gun that's been holstered on her back. 

“Fuck get down!” yelled Dinah as Harley cocked the gun.

“I told you to try harder!” said Harley. She pulled the trigger, sending a plume of colored smoke into the air and blinding them. When the smoke cleared, Harley was gone, duffel bags and all.

“Fuck!” yelled Huntress. Dinah was grinning.

“She always gets away. It's just fun to mess with her. You'll get used to it.” Huntress grimaced, resigned to that fact. “Let's see what else we can find!” said Dinah. They spend the rest of the night speeding through Gotham, cleaning up any trash they find. It's the most fun Dinah's had in a while.

\+ + + + +

Helena was back to work the next night, checking IDs and strong-arming rowdy customers away. She was still jazzed from her outing before, kicking ass with Canary. She'd met Harley Quinn. All in all, it was a great night. Canary had agreed to meet the next day, same time, and she couldn't wait to do it again.

She walked inside to take a break, heading to the bar for a drink. Her eyes strayed to the stage where Dinah just happened to be doing her second set. It was late in the night, so the club was winding down a bit, though everyone was still amped up enough that she could tell they weren't really listening to Dinah sing. It was their loss, thought Helena.

She watched as Dinah sung a yearning ballad about “la vie en rose.” It was beautiful, and she sparkled under the stage lights, beads of gold in her hair glinting. She almost took Helena's breath away, which was very inconvenient. 

When she had sung three songs, Dinah descended from the stage. Having spotted Helena at the bar, she made a beeline her way.

“On break?” She asked the bouncer.

“Just taking a breather. They might not need me after this. Maybe I'll head home,” said Helena. “That was a gorgeous set, by the way. I loved the French song.”

“Oh, 'La Vie en Rose'? It was a favorite of my mother's,” said Dinah, lips curling together in a self=conscious smile.

The music struck up again then, and Helena had to lean – cautiously – into Dinah's space to tell her, “Well, it sounded beautiful. I'm sure she's proud.” Dinah blushed, her breath catching at the closeness of the other woman. 

“Hey, singer lady!” came a voice behind Helena. They turned to see a man swaying on his feet, two drinks in hand. Helena's keen eyes clocked a cloudy substance in one of them, slowly settling into the bottom of the glass. “Bought you a drink,” he said.

Dinah gave a wary smile, took the offered drink. “Thanks. Glad you enjoyed the show.”

The man muscled his way between the two woman, and Helena took an indignant step back. “Excuse me,” she said. He ignored her, and Dinah met her eyes over his shoulder, gave a shrug.

“You were really good. Want to dance?” he said, swaying into Dinah's space. Helena suppressed the urge to shove him out of the way.

“I'm actually just talking to my friend,” said Dinah. “Maybe another time?”

“But I bought you a drink,” he said, gesturing to the untouched drink on the bar. Helena stood ready to knock it out of Dinah's hands if she went to drink it. “C'mon. I'm a nice guy.”

“She said no, dude. Get lost,” said Helena. She took a step around the man, insinuated herself between him and Dinah once more. 

“Well tell your friend she's a bitch who doesn't appreciate a gentleman,” he said.

“I'll be sure not to pass on that message. Gentlemen don't fucking drug women. I saw what you did,” said Helena. How did Dinah attract these creeps? She heard the woman gasp behind her. “Now get. Fucking. Lost.” 

The man spat at Helena's feet, slung his drink around her and into Dinah's face. “Bitches,” he said. Helena finally shoved him away. He stumbled, fell on his ass. She picked him up and shoved him until they were at the door of the club, then, with one final decisive shove, she threw him out. Walking back to Dinah, she found the other woman dabbing her face with cocktail napkins.

“Come on, help me clean up,” said Dinah, leading Helena by the hand back to her dressing room. Helena wasn't really sure how she would help, but she went regardless.

They rounded the corner to Dinah's dressing room, and she still didn't drop Helena's hand. She didn't mind at all. Dinah used her hand to drag Helena into her dressing room, shutting the door behind her. Before Helena could get her bearings, Dinah had shoved her up against said door, moved into her personal space, hands coming to rest at the base of Helena's skull, fingers tracing into her hair. With that, Dinah pulled Helena's head down and fitted her mouth to her own, the taste of the thrown cocktail on her lips.

Helena was shocked into immobility. She couldn't think, she couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She started with that one. Moving away briefly to catch a breath, she moved her head so it'd line up better with Dinah's and pushed back in, lips locking together with firm desire. Helena's hands came to grasp at Dinah's hips like a life raft in a chaotic ocean. The sound of their lips meeting and retreating, tongues following, filled the room, joined in chorus with their heavy breaths. 

“Thanks for saving me,” said Dinah, breathing the words against Helena's lips. “I can take care of myself, but I appreciate watching you do it for me.”

“Sure, sure,” said Helena, one hand grasping Dinah's jaw and drawing her back in. She used the leverage to switch their positions, now pinning Dinah to the door with her hips and lips.

They moved to the couch then, Dinah straddling Helena, grinding a gasp from the other woman's mouth. Moving to take that gasp in her own mouth, Dinah came closer, hips moving in a swivel. Helena gripped at her shirt because she had nothing else to hold onto, rucking it up over her stomach, her chest, then over her head. Her hands skirted Dinah's sides in a more intimate imitation of their pat-down the other day. She had been haunted by the sight of that golden skin ever since. Dinah gave a little moan of approval, reached up to unhook her own bra.

Helena's brain disconnected from her body at that point, but needless to say, she finally got laid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Fiona Apple's "Fetch the Bolt Cutters"
> 
> Sorry, I'm not writing full-on smut. This was shockingly close enough for me! I did decide to raise the rating just to be responsible, though, considering language and violence and a bit of sexuality.


	4. I'm Not Part of the Killing Spree

Dinah meets with Renee the next morning, a bounce in her step since she'd scratched that eternal itch just hours before. They met at their normal coffee joint, Dinah hoping she'd get some intel from the older woman. 

“You look happy. Did you get some?” Renee greeted her. Dinah blushed despite her ire at the cop's words. Leave it to Renee to be so fucking nosy.

“You don't know that for sure. But yes. Now what do you have?” 

“An arms deal. Black market. There's an abandoned factory on 5th, that's where it'll happen. Tomorrow night, around 11.”

“Is--”

“Sionis behind it? Yeah, course he is,” Renee finished. “The precinct still won't go after him. I guess he's got himself plenty of friends in my ranks.”

“Thanks, Renee. I'll be there.”

“You mean 'we'll be there,' right?” Asked Renee.

“Who's 'we'?”

“You and Crossbow. I know you guys are palling around town. Busted up a Harley Quinn robbery the other night. Seems a little above the Killer's pay grade.”

“She can handle herself, and I wanted to knock some skulls together. You know Quinn. You can't stop her, so might as well have fun with it.”

“You're getting soft." Dinah scoffed at that, rolled her eyes. "Please be safe. Your mother would want you to help, but she'd want you to make safe decisions at the very least. I'm still not sold on the idea she'd want you picking up her mask and going out on your own anyway, but you're doing a good job. Don't screw it up because you have a soft spot for someone you barely know.” Renee took a long pull from her latte while Dinah gaped a bit, shocked at her candor.

“Renee, I'm not going soft,” she finally decided on saying. “And I like having someone there. Sue me. It's a lonely job. She took plenty of sidekicks. I mean, look at you, for example.”

“Fuck off,” said Renee, smiling over the lid of her coffee.

“What I'm saying is that, yeah, Huntress draws some more attention to me. But she also helps me, and she makes it more fun.” She steeled herself with a sip of her own latte. “Plus, like I told you before, I'm not going to stop going where you tell me, and since she just likes to wait around for trouble wherever it might find her, I keep running into the woman. So it can't be helped. I'll be safe, though. I hear you.”

“I know. I trust you. I just wouldn't be able to live with myself if I got Dinah Drake's kid killed.”

“You won't, Renee. And if you did, it wouldn't be your fault.”

Dinah didn't do much during the day. Usually just slept off whatever happened the night before, and then started it all over again. Sometimes, though, she trained at the gym. It was close to work and not far from her apartment, and she liked that it had a boxing room full of heavy bags, speed bags and a ring. She'd occasionally find some meathead to spar with, shock him when she kicked his ass. She dredged the bottom of her car for her long-forgotten gym bag and decided to head there after coffee with Renee, hoping to work off some steam. 

Outside the gym, she unearthed her bag from the detritus on her car floor and straightened up. A roar sounded from her right, just outside the gym. Snapping her head up, she saw a tall woman straddling a black motorcycle which she'd just revved into life. She put her helmet on but the second before the visor closed over her face, Dinah placed it. It was Helena, riding what looked exactly like Huntress's bike. She gasped at the thought. Ridiculous. Surely Helena and Huntress weren't the same. They just drove the same motorcycle and had the same body type and a predilection for kicking ass.

Still, couldn't be her. She couldn't see it from the woman, Dinah thought as she watched Helena secure her backpack – probably her gym bag – to her back and zoom off into Gotham traffic. Just because Helena was a bit of a bad ass, with a motorcycle and a defensive streak that had made her Dinah's protector at work didn't mean she was also a bad ass, crossbow wielding vigilante. There were a lot of people in this city, a lot of motorcycles, and comparably not many vigilantes like her and Huntress. It was more likely that Helena was just a hot coworker who happened to give Dinah one of the best lays of her life the night before. 

Still, there was a spark between her and Huntress, too, said her subconscious as she locked her car, made her way into the gym. It made sense. She ceded the ground to the devil's advocate in her brain. She couldn't be sure Helena and Huntress weren't the same person. She'd have to do some investigating.

\+ + + + +

Two days later and Helena still couldn't believe that she'd slept with Dinah, her coworker, the night before. And at work! It was so unlike her to be this unprofessional. She remembered her uncles and their warnings to her about getting too close to people. It was why her hook-ups in the past had been with strangers. Now she had to go to work and make eye contact with someone who knew what her tongue tasted like. She felt awkward enough already around pretty women like Dinah. Knowing that she reciprocated the queasy crush feelings didn't help at all. It just made the whole thing seem bigger than it had to be.

She was scheduled to meet Black Canary that night, at an abandoned factory downtown. Their last jaunt had ended with them exchanging the numbers to their burner phones, so they could decide upon another time to trawl the city for crime. The day before, just as Helena was finishing up at the gym, she got a text on the chintzy flip phone: “tomorrow, 10 pm, factory on corner of 5th and Douglas. --BC.” As she headed downtown, around 9:30, her thoughts still drifted to Dinah. The woman was a revelation, giving Helena one of the best nights of her life in just one all-too-short hour. She didn't know how she'd be able to look at her the next night at the club without her brain melting out of her nose. Just the mere thought of her shirtless had Helena almost plowing into the back of a semi. She pumped the handbrake on her bike hard, feeling the tension radiate out from her clenched fist and back into her shoulders. Get it together, she thought, not for the first time.

Helena got there early and tried to get some bearing on the place, pacing the perimeter and waiting on Canary, who finally showed up with five minutes to spare. Helena noticed a strange glint to the woman's eyes beneath her mask as she clearly gave her a once-over, gaze traveling over her Huntress get-up like she was taking stock of her for the first time. Surely she'd done that several meetings ago.

“You OK?” Helena asked.

“Yeah, yeah. So, I got this tip-off from my cop friend. Apparently there's a black market weapons hand-off taking place here tonight. She wants us to bust it up, if we can. I was thinking because this is an arms deal and we're surrounded by weapons that maybe it's best to just use the cry, take these guys down in one go,” Black Canary said. “We post up together, you could watch me after I pass out, then we drop this shit in the bay and head home. Simple.”

“Sounds good to me. No idea how many men there'll be?”

“No clue. Hopefully it'll be a small gang. I worked out yesterday and I'm sore,” said Canary, rolling her shoulders.

“Me too, actually. I do most days, though.” Canary nodded in silence, giving Helena that strange look again. Maybe she was just nervous.

“Well,” Canary said into the awkward silence. “Let's head over there.” She gave Helena a final weird cautious look, turned on her heel and walked to the far right corner of the factory, the other woman following. They climbed a rickety ladder to perch on an equally rickety catwalk, where they crouched, eyes fixed on the entrance.

After an excruciatingly long hour, the creaky wooden door opened to three men, each carrying a locked bin, almost like a plastic safe. Helena knew them to be full of weapons – guns, ammo, grenades, maybe worse. In Gotham, who could ever be sure what kind of trouble you'd come up against, created in a lab by some godless maniac who sought only progress and not humanity. If there was one thing she truly hated, ultimately, it was people who didn't question their own actions. She'd reckoned plenty with her family's history in the mob, and she liked to think that, if they were still alive, she wouldn't be involved in the business. Violence just for the sake of money? She had money and could tell you it didn't buy happiness; it didn't bring her family back, for one. Violence even for vengeance wasn't as healing as she thought. It came short of the life-fixing event she assumed it would be. 

Helena watched the men congregate, placing their bins on a conveyor belt in a neat line. Two of them left to grab even more bins. It was a meat market. They brought the whole arsenal and were displaying it for a big-name client, a big spender. Right at 11, the door creaked open once more to reveal five men – four vaguely familiar and one recognizably Sionis's henchman from the club. He was still wearing bandages over his ears from their last run-in. So, Sionis was definitely the buyer in this arms deal. 

She kept a careful eye on the men as they picked through the goods, trying to keep another careful eye on Canary to watch for the signal. The men were congregated around one bin, peering inside at some horrible item, transfixed at its awfulness, she assumed. Black Canary smacked her thigh with the back of her hand, jerked her chin up as if to say, “Let's do this.” Helena covered her ears tightly, watched as Canary gulped air to fill up her lungs, puffed her chest out and released sonic vibrations across the entire factory. The men wen't down in waves, thrown to the ground by the power of the Canary cry. Once her lungs were empty, Canary collapsed, falling to her left, and Helena removed her hands from her ears just in time to catch her.

Helena checked as best she could to make sure the men were all taken care of, craning her neck but not seeing the full picture. She trusted the cry did its job, and rearranged her legs to pull Canary onto her lap, reaching one hand to push her hair out of her face. She tried not to stare, but the other woman had amazing bone structure, her face didn't show her supposed age, and she was so familiar, like someone she knew from a past life, if you believed in that kind of thing. Helena didn't. After almost a perfect five minute interval, Canary's eyes shot open to find Helena staring at her still. Shit, thought Helena. You weren't supposed to make it obvious. Too late. Canary awkwardly rolled to the side, getting off of Helena's lap and standing carefully. She threw an arm down to help the other woman up, hefted her to her feet then stood back so she wasn't in her personal space.

“Thanks for the help. We get 'em?” Canary asked.

“Yeah, said Helena, her mouth dry. 

They descend the catwalk, walking cautiously together towards the mass of men on the floor. “We'll lock all these up, then walk a block up to the river, drop them in,” said Canary, gesturing to the weapons. They got to work, placing guns and ammo back in their cushy styrofoam homes inside the thick plastic bins. Canary walked down the conveyer belt, methodically shutting the cases. Suddenly, Helena saw one of the men, the one with bandages on his ears which were now covered with blood, rear up from the ground and take a knife from his belt, lunging to slash it deeply against Canary's thigh. With a loud cry, Canary collapsed on the ground. Helena, on instinct, drew her crossbow, shooting one, then two bolts into the man's throat, killing him instantly. 

“Canary! Are you OK?” shouted Helena, rushing over to the other woman where she was crumpled on the floor. 

“I'm fine,” said Canary through gritted teeth. Helena didn't really believe her. The woman heaved her upper body from the floor, supporting herself on her right arm and trying to inspect the wound on her thigh with the other.

“Are you sure? You don't look good.” Helena fished a bandana from her cargo pants, tossing it to Black Canary to use as a tourniquet.

“I'll be fine.”

“Bullshit. I'm leaving all of this here. Let's get you somewhere safer. Hospital? Your house?”

“No. I have a first aid kit in my car. Take me there and help me stitch up.” Canary pulled the bandana taut over her wound, knotted it.

“Are you sure? Stitches in a car, I don't think that sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Well I can't go to a hospital and, no offense, I don't need you knowing where I live. Nothing against you, just a personal preference.”

“No offense taken. So, where are you parked?” Helena asked. Canary threw a thumb to the right, and Helena nodded, leaning down to help her to her feet, or foot, as it were. She held the other leg aloft, so as not to put weight on it, trusting Helena to support the rest of her. Arms slung around each other, they slowly made their way out of the factory.

“I have to say, I think you must be pretty glad you had me around tonight,” said Helena, grinning. 

“I can take care of myself,” snapped Canary. Silence hung around them, just the sound of their feet shuffling on gravel and pavement as they trudged along. “I'm sorry. I am glad you're here. I can do it myself but I'm not dragging myself to my car in an army crawl right now, and I didn't fall off a catwalk earlier, and I suppose I have you to thank for that. I appreciate your, uh, talents.”

“Glad my talents are being appreciated,” Helena said with a decisive nod and a little grin.

“Don't get cocky. My cop friend warned me away from you, you know? Said it's too dangerous to get mixed up with you and have Sionis on my tail.”

They reached a vintage sports car – something European, gold – and Helena assumed it was Canary's. They hobbled towards it and Canary handed her keys over, trusting Helena to pop the door.

“I'm not cocky. I do appreciate that you let me tag along. I appreciate that you trust me. I barely talk to anyone who isn't you,” Helena said with a rueful laugh as she unlocked the passenger door. She helped Canary sit down, and watched as the woman dug through her glove compartment.

“Shit. Shit! It's not here. Will you check the trunk? I can't find the first aid kit.” Helena took the keys, stepped to the back of the car and unlocked the trunk. Nothing but a gym bag and a spare tire.

“Not here. I'll check the back.” Helena opened the back door and did a thorough search of the seats and floor. “Nope.”

“Fuck. I know we're friends now and all that but I couldn't live with myself if I let you come to my place. Just weird about that.”

“Well, I have a first aid kit. We could go to mine,” said Helena.

“I'm not really sure if I want to know where you live, either.”

“How about we just hang out in my parking lot, then. You don't have to know which apartment I live in,” Helena grinned. “Since you're so dead-set on getting some stitches in this car.”

“Fine. You got the keys?” Helena held them up. “Good, you're driving.”

They rode through town in relative silence, the radio playing softly in the background. It wasn't ten minutes before they reached a little apartment complex down on 16th street. Helena pulled the car into the lot.

“You OK?” she said, turning to Canary. The other woman had her head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut.

“Yeah, just hurting.”

“I'll be right back,” Helena said, leaving the keys in the ignition and pulling her own out of her pocket.

\+ + + + +

Huntress lived in the kind of apartment building where all the units opened to the outside, kind of nice if you're the type who likes balcony living. Dinah watched through the window as she jogged up the stairs, meaning to look away before she reached her apartment – she really meant it when she said she didn't want to know where the other vigilante lived, who knows what may come up in an interrogation – but the woman turned into the first apartment on the second floor and it was too late. Now Dinah knew exactly where Huntress lived.

She had kept a careful eye on the woman all night, hoping to find evidence for either the pro or con category on her "Is Helena Huntress?" list. So far there was nothing decisive. They did hold themselves similarly, and their voices could at times sound the same. Not that Dinah knew too well what Helena sounded like. They didn't do much talking the night before. Her rational brain still said it was crazy that Helena would be a vigilante herself. What were the odds?

Huntress was back in a flash, luckily. The cut on Dinah's leg was screaming, the bandana Huntress had handed her soaked through with blood. Dinah's skin had broken out in a cold sweat, and she felt clammy. 

“OK, found the kit. I've got a sutures kit, too, because I think this is going to need stitches. We'll see.” Huntress had opened the passenger door and was crouched on the asphalt of the parking lot, ready to tend to Dinah's wounds. “I'm going to have to cut around it. I'm sorry.”

“S'fine,” said Dinah, already squeezing her eyes shut to block out the pain.

“Here, take this.” Huntress handed her two pills and a water bottle. “Tylenol.” Dinah gladly took them as Huntress cut her pants at the middle of her thigh, where the wound was. She took some rubbing alcohol out of her kit, some cotton rounds and began cleaning the cut. 

“Fuck!” Dinah hissed. That was almost the worst part, she thought as the alcohol stung into her skin, feeling like it was melting it off. 

“Sorry,” said Huntress, replacing the wet and bloody cotton rounds in her hand with some fresh ones, wiping up the excess blood and alcohol. The wound seeped blood again, and she diligently cleaned that off, too. “Seems pretty deep. Stitches are in order." She pulled her suture kit out, unpackaged a hooked needle and medical grade thread and got to work. She must have been an old hand at it, because it didn't hurt nearly as much as it did when Dinah did it herself.

“Not that this doesn't hurt like a bitch, but as stitches go, I've had worse. Where'd you learn? Just from stitching yourself up?” Dinah asked through gritted teeth, trying to distract herself from the pain.

“No. I mean, yes, I do clean myself up, but my, uh, family. They required stitches sometimes. They're assassins, for lack of a better word.”

“So this runs in the family? Me too. Tell me about them, if you want.”

“Well, they're my uncles. There's Salvator and Gianni and their dad, Francis. They taught me everything I know, but sometimes they treated me like their nursemaid. So I did most of the stitching, most of the cooking.”

“You cook too? Damn I wish we were friends outside of this.” Huntress grinned. “Where did you grow up?”

“Sicily, actually. And here. But mostly Sicily, with my uncles.” 

“That must've been nice.” Dinah bared her teeth at a particularly painful stitch. “Fuck! Tell me about Sicily."

“It's beautiful. I lived in the countryside, but Sicily has the bluest waters, green hills, ancient buildings. The bread is crusty, the tomatoes are the juiciest you'll ever find and the wine. The wine is to die for.”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Dinah, daring a glance down to find Huntress on her last stitch.

“It was,” said Huntress. “I can't wait to go back.” She tied off the stitches. “There. You know how and when to remove those later, right?”

Dinah rolled her eyes. “Of course I do.”

“Just checking,” Huntress smiled. She helped Dinah tuck her leg back in the car, delicately shut the door and got in the driver’s seat. “Let's go find my bike.”

After another short, equally quiet drive they arrived at Huntress's bike. Dinah hobbled around the car to get in the driver's side.

“So I'll text you if I hear anything else?” asked Dinah. Huntress nodded. “OK. Thanks again.” Huntress just gave her a little salute and slid her helmet visor down before revving her bike and speeding away. And Dinah finally got to go home and collapse into bed.

\+ + + + +

The next night, Helena was due for a shift at the Black Mask club. She wasn't needed until a bit later in the evening, but decided to show up early. It definitely wasn't to catch Dinah's set, she told herself, though she knew otherwise. She wasn't really sure where they stood after the other night. Her stomach flipped with nausea at the thought of whatever follow-up conversation they were going to have.

She showed up right as Dinah was going on stage. She forewent a pre-work drink, instead opting for a glass of ice water as she listened to Dinah's set, watched her work the stage, glittering under the lights the whole time. She sang some slow jazz standards, something about lilac wine, another about black coffee and finally the French song Helena had loved so much the last time. During that song, her last, Dinah's eyes found Helena's in the crowd, and her smile split her face, dimple on full blast. Helena blushed, she couldn't help it.

Her blush deepened when Dinah headed right towards her after descending from the stage.

“Hey, Steve, can I get an old fashioned?” she ordered from the barkeep. Helena's shift didn't start for another half hour. They stood side-by-side in companionable silence, the music blasting over the speakers loud enough to drown out most anything they could say. Steve handed Dinah her cocktail and she thanked him, turned to look Helena right in the eye. She sipped her drink and examined the other woman. Then, she leaned in, lips brushing Helena's ear. “Want to get out of here?”

Helena nodded too quickly. “I work in thirty minutes, though.”

“Plenty of time,” Dinah purred into her ear. Helena swore she felt her lips ghost over her earlobe in a kiss. She nearly fainted. Something about the other woman, now that they'd been together, was more intoxicating. She felt unsteady on her feet around her. Dinah grabbed her hand again, led her towards the back.

Minutes later they were laying on the couch, Dinah spread out on top of Helena like cool butter melting into hot toast, exploring one another's mouths. Helena was practicing where to place her hands, what sounds Dinah made and what action caused them, learning to play her like a baby grand piano. She slid her hands down Dinah's ass, fingers spreading over the top of her thigh, gripping. Dinah wrenched her mouth away from their kiss with a hiss. That was not a sound Helena wanted to cause.

“Be careful, I have a little cut there. Nothing huge, just fresh.” She dove back in, pressing her shining lips to Helena's as the taller woman relocated her hands a bit further north, thinking nothing of it. But thirty minutes later, when she was standing outside, trying to keep an eye on the patrons while surreptitiously wiping lipstick off of her neck, she thought it sure was strange that Dinah claimed to have a wound right where Black Canary had been cut the night before. The thought was too ridiculous to entertain, so she chose not to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Noid" by Yves Tumor


	5. Singing Along to the Idiot Sounds

Dinah was working on a new set and had a block of time scheduled for a sound check and rehearsal at the club that day. It meant she'd probably run into Sionis, which was a thought she didn't relish. He was always overly complimentary of her singing and would usually sit and watch her sets in rapturous silence. It weirded her out every time, and she especially didn't give her best performance under those circumstances, but he always acted like it was the best music he'd ever heard.

Today was no different. As she sang her first song – Nina Simone's version of “I Put a Spell on You” – sure enough, there was Roman, dragging a chair to face the stage, front and center. He clapped loudly when she was done. “Well done, songbird!” He yelled at the stage. She tried not to roll her eyes as the band picked up for her next song, “Non Dimenticar.” She always loved Natalie Cole's cover of it and something about Huntress's recollection of Sicily made her want to try something in Italian. Luckily it wasn't entirely in Italian, but the intention was there.

“Italian! I love it. Spicy,” said Sionis, her final note lingering in the air. “You know, your voice is very powerful. Like Black Canary. You could shatter glass!”

Dinah felt her stomach drop to her feet, but covered up her nervous look with a complimentary little laugh. “Oh, I wish. I'd blow the windows out of this place,” she said.

“Too right you are! Good thing you're not her, right? I can't be replacing windows and glasses all the time,” said Sionis, approaching the stage. He sat on the lip of it, patted the spot next to him. Hesitantly, Dinah lowered herself to the stage floor, sitting cross-legged next to him. “You know, speaking of these disgusting vigilantes, this Crossbow Killer is getting the best of me. Surely you've heard of her? Could've sworn she was a man!” He laughed in that maniacal way he had, over the top, until he ran out of breath..

“Yeah, I've heard you talk about her. Never seen her, though.”

“Well, she's really gumming up my business ventures. And Black Canary, too. Why do all these people want to quell my happiness, songbird?”

“I couldn't imagine why, Roman. Truly. You deserve better.” She was blowing smoke up his ass in hopes that this conversation would end and she could rehearse her third song and get the fuck out of here.

“Thank you. I agree. You know, ever since Zsasz was killed, I've felt unmoored like a lost lifeboat at sea,” he said dramatically. “I'm glad you have my back, right?”

“Of course. Always,” Dinah lied. 

“Good!” He hopped off the stage and walked away, then twirled around to point at Dinah. “Great work, songbird. I'll see you out there!” Dinah heaved a huge sigh and signaled the band to strike up her final song.

\+ + + + + 

Helena was getting used to this new bouncer gig. She got to strongarm rowdy men, usually, and it was nice to have something to do. But even better, there was Dinah. Helena had never really been with any one woman more than once. It was uncharted territory for her. Would Dinah want to hook up every time they worked together? Helena wasn't mad at the idea. She thought about how Dinah let Helena cup her face in her hands, the sighs she gave when they kissed. The softness of it, giving way to a rough passion. It was like a drug. Her thoughts had been consumed by the other woman. She hoped it wouldn't get in her way when it came time to be defensive, hoped she could purge the thoughts during her next mission with Canary. She wasn't going to look like a rookie in front of the woman just because her brain was between her legs now, apparently.

She entered the club for her nighttime shift, showing up a bit early, as was her habit. The bouncers who were scheduled for the opening shift had to come in and pat everyone down first. She sighed thinking about Steve coming onto her again as she tried to avoid giving him any ideas. She was just doing her fucking job. Why did men act like they do?

Dinah was running soundcheck when Helena walked in. She was singing the last few bars of something about putting a spell on someone while Helena got to it, patting down the bartenders. Best to get it over with, and at least she could hear Dinah sing.

The band struck up a new song, one Helena knew. She knew it only in Italian and not this mostly English version, but Francis sang “Non Dimenticar” all the time around the house. He loved Dean Martin, would play his records in the house while they trained. It brought a surge of warm memory to her, and she stopped patting Steve down to look up at the stage at Dinah. What a revelation she was. It was almost like she knew this song would strike Helena right in the heart.

Helena gathered herself and finished patting down the employees in the bar as they went about their opening tasks. Dinah sang the last notes to her final song, something more upbeat about someone who kept the singer hanging on. It seemed modern. She finished, thanked the band, then pointedly caught Helena's eye, jerking her head in the direction of the backstage dressing rooms. It was embarrassing how fast Helena shot to attention and booked her way towards the back.

Helena got to Dinah's dressing room just after the singer, who turned around and greeted her with a, “Hey, baby.” Helena blushed to the roots of her hair at the term of endearment. It wasn't something she heard a lot. 

“Hey, Dinah,” Helena whispered, roping her arms around Dinah's waist and hauling her in for a kiss. She sighed like she did the last time, like she'd been waiting for it all day. That seemed impossible to Helena, that someone would be thinking about her like she thought about them, could want her like she wanted them. They kissed like that for a moment, passionately, Helena's hands ending up in the back pockets of Dinah's tight pants like they were high schoolers at a dance, Dinah's fingers in Helena's messy hair. 

Helena broke away with a soft smack of their lips, and Dinah hummed, smoothing down Helena's hair. “Thanks for that,” she said. It was useless to catalog the varying intensity of Helena's blush at this point.

“You're welcome,” she said, unsure how to handle the thanks for something she would've done in her sleep. And she did do it in her sleep. Her dreams had been only of Dinah the past few nights. Dinah moved her hands to cup Helena's jawline, pulling her back in. “I loved that Italian song you sang,” Helena whispered just before their lips met.

“'Non Dimenticar',” said Dinah. “I've always loved the Natalie Cole version of it.”

“Yeah, but Dean Martin's version, though,” said Helena, grinning into Dinah's lips, their noses bumping. 

“You know the song?” said Dinah, drawing back a bit.

“I may speak Italian.”

“No fucking way. Why?”

“Runs in the family,” said Helena. She ran a hand up Dinah's back and held the back of her head, pulling her up into the kiss they'd been dancing around for moments. 

\+ + + + +

So Helena spoke Italian, Dinah thought. She was cleaning up her makeup after her indulgent make-out session with the other woman. Sneaking around colored it all with more excitement. Dinah smiled remembering Helena's blush when she suggested she pat her down again.

The Italian was another mark in the “Huntress and Helena are the same person” column. Dinah had ruled nothing out. It was so strange to think that there was a slight chance that the rookie vigilante she'd been spending most of her nights with with was also the new, hot bouncer with whom she'd spent her other nights. She was still skeptical. Gotham was an enormous city. It wasn't unbelievable that Helena and Huntress both rode similar bikes and spoke Italian. Those were the only concrete similarities she had, and they weren't really enough to be sure.

Dinah shoved it into the back of her mind when it came time to sing, grateful for the distraction.

The next day, she met with Renee again. The woman said she had some serious new intel, and they met at their favorite coffee shop again. Dinah was in a great mood – she and Helena had picked up where they left off after their shifts were over and didn't exit the dressing room until around two in the morning, leaving the bar with all the drunks. Renee never wanted to meet before noon, so Dinah got plenty of sleep. She even decided to buy Renee her own banana nut muffin this time so she'd stop stealing Dinah's.

“Damn, you got some again?” Renee asked when she walked into the coffee shop to find Dinah grinning into her mug.

“Shut the fuck up, Renee,” she said, but without the sting. She didn't even care.

“Who's the lucky person? This is the second time I've met you here and you looked like the cat that got the cream.”

“Someone from work. New bouncer. She's nice.”

“Oh, she? That's what we like to hear,” said Renee with a grin. She didn't trust men much, never liked any of Dinah's old boyfriends. Dinah didn't like them much anymore either. Of course, it was hard to find a woman in Gotham who was both interested and who Renee had never dated, but Dinah was glad she seemed to have pulled it off. She really needed to see if Helena wanted to take it outside of the club next.

“What's the intel, Renee?” Dinah asked, pointedly scooting the second muffin over to her. Renee's eyes got big like a toddler presented with candy and she tucked in.

“The men at the station caught some gossip about a massive drop-off tomorrow tonight. We're talking drugs, ammo, maybe some real nasty stuff like we only seem to get in Gotham.” That meant bio weapons, serums, toxins, all the kinds of nasty shit that made Gotham the nightmare it could be. “It's in an abandoned industrial bakery pretty far downtown, off 64th street.”

“I think I know it. Old Schulman's bakery?”

“Yeah. Used to love their cupcakes.” Dinah rolled her eyes. “So did your mom. We'd split a two-pack after busting up some knuckleheads sometimes.”

“Nice of her to share that with you,” Dinah said, hinting at her mother's tendency to not share things, like credit for a successful mission, or space on the Metro section of the Gotham Gazette. She was a bit egotistical that way, and it had always been a sticking point between her and Renee.

“Eh, you know how she was. A bit stingy, that Dinah Drake. Loved to have a sidekick, hated to share the credit. We knew what we were getting into.” She shrugged. “No hard feelings.”

“I know. Maybe that's why I'm drawn to having Huntress around. I want to do things like mom, but I want to do them for the right reasons.”

“I know that about you, hon. I think you are, for what it's worth” Renee patted her hand quickly, so it didn't get awkward. They'd never been an affectionate group, vigilantes. “I don't think I can get you back-up tomorrow. I think Sionis may have more cops in his pocket than we previously thought. Not a single jackass at the precinct wants to go after him, despite his name being all over these recent drug busts, weapons sales, all that trash.” Renee balled up her muffin wrapper, tossed it on the plate. “Can't rid Gotham of trash when the trash has infiltrated the garbage collectors, if you catch my drift.”

“I didn't expect back-up anyway. Huntress and I have it covered. What time?”

“11 pm again. I don't know why they can't do this shit earlier,” Renee laughed.

They finished up soon after, the two deigning to exchange a small side hug as they parted company. Dinah went to her car, pulled her burner phone out of the glove compartment and typed out a message. “Abandoned Schulman's bakery, down 64th street. 11 pm tomorrow. Meet there by 10. --BC”. 

\+ + + + +

Helena thumbed through the Gotham Gazette, looking specifically for the Metro page, to see all the vigilante goings-on. There was a story about Batman busting up a plot by the Riddler. There was a piece about how many banks Harley Quinn had robbed that week – Harley Quinn: Banking Menace? It read. Then tucked into a sidebar was a picture of Black Canary using her cry that someone had somehow taken. It looked like it was from before their time together. Canary looked beautiful in the picture, open and powerful. How did the photographer snap this without collapsing to the ground? Thought Helena. The sidebar was about what to do if you encountered Black Canary taking down a target. Cover your ears tightly, consider bringing ear plugs, it said. It was a puff piece. Not for the first time, Helena wondered how Black Canary got through her daily life. Did she ever sing? Could she? Helena imagined it'd be a powerful voice, maybe it could do things like shatter glass or windows when it wasn't being used at full-blast to take down waves of bad men. Helena thought vaguely of the time she'd watched a cocktail shiver in its glass as Dinah hit a high note. She imagined Black Canary would sing something like that. What a testament to Dinah's voice that was, though. Maybe I'll tell her that, that I think her voice is as powerful and affecting as Black Canary's. She'll like that, thought Helena.

Just then, Helena got a text on her burner: “Abandoned Schulman's bakery, down 64th street. 11 pm tomorrow. Meet there by 10. --BC”. With a sigh, she wondered what could possibly be left to try to smuggle in or out of this god-forsaken city, but resigned herself to stopping it yet again.

\+ + + + + 

It was Thursday night, so Dinah decided to go to the club and do one last rehearsal for her set before they opened for the night. She didn't sing on Thursdays, as it was more of a normal night at the club, for people who somehow could drink on Thursdays. Dinah supposed she was also one of those people who could drink really any day of the week and not worry about it keeping her away from a 9 to 5 the next day. Maybe she'd have a drink, too.

She knew she'd be at the club up until it was time to go to Schulman's for the bust-up, so she'd brought her bag in the trunk of her car, with her jumpsuit – which was luckily easy-ish to slip on in one's car parked in a dark alley – and mask. The more normal she looked, the closer her alibi, the harder it would be for someone like Sionis to pin Black Canary on her. His conversation the other day had sparked a little fear in her. What if he did figure out she was Canary? Even if he was joking, the possibility now weighed on her mind. She really was a sheep with a job in the lion's den. But sheep didn't have her powers.

She was finishing up running through her third song, The Supreme's “You Keep Me Hanging On,” when Roman came into the bar, face beaming as if he'd just won the scumbag lottery. 

“Turn off the music! Gather round, everyone!” Roman said. Dinah turned to the back of the stage so he couldn't see her roll her eyes at the band as they stopped. Steve and the other bartenders came out from behind the bar, and a couple of beefy goons flanked Sionis. “Tonight is the night I finally make a dream come true! Crossbow Killer's head on a platter! I've fed her some false intel and tonight, when she gets to Schulman's bakery, we'll be waiting for her. She's always early but this time, we'll be earlier. I have 25 men waiting with guns and ammo, right now. I don't want a speck of her left when they're done. Isn't that delightful?” He clapped his hands together in glee.

Dinah's stomach sank to her feet for the second time in as many days. She knew Huntress always showed up even earlier than her. God knows when she'd head over to the bakery. It was 9 now. Dinah had to get a message to her, and fast.

“Glad to hear it, Roman!” Said Dinah, trying to curry some favor that might help her get back to her dressing room faster. “It's about time you caught her.”

“Thank you, songbird. Now, everyone back to it! Let's make this the best night of my life!”

Dinah rushed to the back of the club, trying not to look like she was in a hurry. She grabbed her purse from her dressing room, fishing around in the bottom for her flip phone. She took it into the adjoining bathroom and placed the call to Huntress. Nothing. No answer. She tried again. Nothing. She tried up to five times with no answer.

“Fuck! Fuck!” she whispered in a frenzy. She could feel her heart racing. What else could she do? She didn't know where to find Huntress. She tried the phone a few more times while she thought. 

Did she really not know where Huntress lived? A voice in the back of her mind asked. That's true, she did remember the apartment down on 16th street, the first one on the second floor. Gathering her purse and the phone, still trying to dial it yet again while she juggled her keys. She hoped to god Roman didn't see her high-tail it out of the club like she was being chased by fire.

She got in the car, started the ignition with shaky hands, put it in drive with her right while her left still tried to dial Huntress. She peeled out of the parking spot and sped into the road. The club was down on fourth street, so she didn't have too far to go, just about 12 blocks, but she drove like Harley Quinn on a cocaine binge. About seven minutes later, she squealed into Huntress's parking lot, throwing the car in park and getting out so fast she forgot to lock it. She raced up the stairs, to the first apartment on the second floor, hoping to whoever decided these things that she wasn't somehow mistaken about Huntress's place of residence.

The door loomed in front of her and she knocked in rapid succession, frantically, as she felt her heart race. She had to stop Huntress from dying. She had to make sure Roman didn't win. She didn't want to lose her friend, she finally admitted to herself.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, a woman in a towel opened the door.

“Helena?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they both ended up being huge idiots and not figuring it out. Which one is the biggest idiot?
> 
> Here's the song Dinah sings in Italian: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yu1F5BMNV68
> 
> Chapter title from Sasami's "Mess"


	6. Someone Else to Catch This Drift

“Dinah?” said Helena.

“You're--”

“How did you find me? What are you doing here?” Dinah floundered. Was this the time to reveal her own hand? She couldn't believe Helena and Huntress were the same. God damn. God DAMN. She could believe it, was the worst part. Somewhere deep down she knew. But could she trust her? Would there be any way to reveal it without telling her? 

“Can I sit down?” The fact that Helena was in a towel hadn't even sunk into her mind.

“Sure, come in, come in,” said Helena, gesturing for her to enter, then closing the door after her.

“Nice place,” said Dinah without thinking. It was a nice building. The place itself was pretty barren, save some workout equipment, a bit of furniture, a large corkboard on the wall with newspaper clippings, and a cache of weapons in the corner.

“So what brings you here? It's a little weird, Dinah,” said Helena, folding her arms over her chest. “Wait a minute.” She disappeared behind a door, came back a moment later in a bath robe. Dinah's brain thankfully saved the sight of this killer in a fluffy bathrobe for later consumption. “OK, talk.”

“I know where you're going tonight. You shouldn't,” said Dinah, trying to keep her hand close to her chest.

“What is it I'm supposedly doing tonight and how do you know?”

“I heard Sionis say it. It's an ambush,” said Dinah.

“And what does that have to do with me?” Helena's arms were folded over her chest now in a defensive pose, instead of for modesty.

“I know who you are, Huntress.” She watched Helena falter, her arms falling to her sides. 

“How?”

“I can't say,” said Dinah.

“You can't. Well, the way I see it is the only person who might know where Huntress lives is Black Canary, if she was being snoopy despite saying she didn't want to know where Hunt-- where I live. And, I know you have that cut on your leg, right where I stitched Canary up, and I've seen you move things when you sing, with your voice, making martini glasses shake at the club. So I'd say I'm pretty sure you know who I am because you're Canary. You're Black Canary.” Helena was arms-length away now, her face red in burgeoning anger. “How long have you been doing this?”

“How long have I known who you are? Up until about five minutes ago, I swear,” said Dinah. “I just wanted to keep Huntress from being ambushed.”

“No, no I know that. Hasn't Black Canary been around since the 80s?”

Dinah gulped. “That was my mom. Dinah Drake. She died a while back. I took over. We have the same power,” she said. She still hadn't sat down yet, and was standing apace from Helena. The other woman looked a little wild, a little scared, a little shocked. Dinah felt the same way. She hadn't meant to scare the woman, she'd merely wanted to save her.

“That makes sense.”

“Why are you Huntress?” Dinah asked. This was shocking for both of them, and she decided she wasn't going to pretend like she was actually the villain here.

“I was trained as an assassin, like I told you, in Sicily. I was taken there after my family was gunned down in front of me. I was the only survivor.”

“Oh, Helena...”

“They were in the mob. I wanted vengeance. I got it, too.”

“It wasn't enough, though, was it? I got vengeance on my mother's killer, some man who shot her outside of the line of duty. It didn't make me feel any better,” Dinah admitted. She hadn't even told Renee that, but something about the emotion and the fact that she'd discovered a kindred spirit had her lips loosening. Lips. Her eyes dropped to Helena's. The woman was hot when flustered, and the air between them was charged. “Please don't go on the mission. We can't get ambushed like that. It's a trap.”

“I won't. We won't.” Unable to contain her swell of emotion any more, Dinah surged a step forward and messily pressed her lips to Helena's. It wasn't until their lips met that Dinah tasted tears and realized she'd been crying. The kiss was brief, just strong, short pressure between their lips, an acknowledgment of what they'd just learned, the shifting dynamic of their relationship now that both identities had converged into one. Dinah had entertained the thought that Helena and Huntress were the same, of course, but she didn't expect this, this feeling of one-ness, of sheer understanding from someone else. She'd been lonely for so long. This flood of emotion was too much.

As they pulled apart, Helena's hands came to wipe the tears from Dinah's cheeks. “Why are you crying?” she asked. “We're going to be safe for now.” She rested her forehead on Dinah's. “I'm sorry if I was angry. This was a surprise to you, too, wasn't it?”

“I didn't expect it to be you. Somewhere deep down I knew. You drive the same bike, you both speak Italian, you're built the same. You protect me all the time,” Dinah cried. “I don't know why I wouldn't admit it to myself.”

“It's OK. You're here now, we're not going to see Sionis, but we're going to have to figure something out.” Dinah cursed her eyes for leaking after years of no tears, as Helena wiped a fresh wave from her cheeks again. Dinah's hands were curled into the lapels of Helena's bathrobe. “He's going to be suspicious when we don't show, and I'm assuming you left pretty abruptly?” Dinah nodded. “I'm obviously glad you did. I'm sorry I didn't have my phone in the shower. That was dumb,” said Helena.

“It's dumb to take your phone in the shower, so I get it,” said Dinah with a small smile. Helena grinned at the sight of it.

“Regardless, I'm worried you're going to be suspect number one in Sionis's book. You're already a powerful singer, so he could be suspicious on those grounds, but leaving so abruptly and right after that news? Suspicious.”

“We can figure something out by tomorrow,” said Dinah.

Helena grabbed her hands and led her over to the loveseat, arranged Dinah there and then left for the kitchen.

\+ + + + +

In the kitchen, Helena poured Dinah a glass of water and busied herself taking ice cubes from the tray, one by one, and dropping them in. She needed a moment. Dinah seemed not so surprised that she was Huntress, which was one concern: How could she have been that obvious? And Helena hadn't had more than an inkling that Dinah and Black Canary could be one and the same. Just some questioning over the wound on her leg, and the obvious acknowledgment of the woman's singing voice. It could just as easily have been a good singing voice, nothing more, nothing less. Certainly not a killing machine. She felt like Francis would have a lot to say about this, and she tried to quell his voice in her head warning her against getting too close to other people.

“Here you go,” she handed Dinah the cool glass.

“Thanks, baby,” Dinah used the pet name instinctively, she knew, but it always made her blush, even now. She braced herself for what she was about to say.

“I don't want to lose this now,” said Helena. “I've thought about it, well, while I was pouring that glass. I didn't want to be in the mob like my parents. I fight against that now. And I don't want to be alone forever like my uncles made me think I'd need to be. It's like you get me. They wanted to make me prepared for everything but they couldn't have prepared me for you.” She finally looked down at Dinah on the loveseat to see her, glass poised midair as if going for a drink, mouth open. “So, I hope we can keep being a partnership, no matter which way we choose to do that.”

Dinah took a sip, gulped it down. She rested the glass on her knee, feeling the cold sweat of it seep into her pants. “I'd like that, too. I like you. This was a shock, to be honest. I always thought I'd have to be alone too. If my mom's old enemies know about me, they'll come after me, so I thought I couldn't get close to anyone as Canary. But now I think we can move past it. I'm ready for a change. We just have to commit.”

Helena dropped down onto the loveseat, her knees bumping Dinah's. She took the glass from the other woman, reaching across Dinah lightly to place it on the side table. She took Dinah's hands in her own. “I can commit. Partners?”

Dinah squeezed her hands right back. “Partners.” She ran her hands up Helena's arms, sliding up into the loose sleeves of her robe. Squeezing her forearms, Dinah leaned forward, into Helena's space. “Can we seal the deal now?”

With glazed eyes, Helena nodded, and Dinah scooted forward to make a seal of their mouths as an eternal forging of their partnership.

\+ + + + +

Dinah was finally able to drag Helena to a proper bed and have her way with her. After, they lay tangled together under the covers, Dinah's leg resting lightly between both of Helena's, her head on her chest, arms around the woman whose bed was shockingly comfortable. “I could rest here forever. Let's just quit our jobs. Sionis can get fucked.”

“That he can,” said Helena. She grinned. “You know I killed Victor Zsasz, right?”

“No way.”

“Yeah, he was the last entry on my vengeance list. One of the guys who gunned down my family. I still remember his grinning, wild little face. Though now I remember the sound of my arrow in his throat a little better,” she said with a smug little grin.

“I'd tell you not to get cocky, but that's hot as fuck. I hated that guy. Evil little fucker. He would yell at me at work all the time, get up in my space, antagonize Roman into acting even worse than he is now. Good riddance,” Dinah propped herself up on her elbow, grinning down at Helena. “Tell me about your family.”

There was a heavy pause and Dinah swore she heard Helena's teeth grinding in the silence. “My real name is Helena Bertinelli,” she finally said.

“As in the Bertinelli Massacre?” Dinah was shocked. Her mom had told her about that story, before she could see it in the papers. It was grisly, and she knew some kids died, too. Apparently not everyone, though.

“The same,” Helena said grimly. 

“I'm so sorry, baby. I can barely imagine.”

“You're no stranger to loss either, Dinah. And it's fine. I got my revenge. It wasn't as cathartic as I thought, but now I fight for good. If my family was alive, I would still fight for good, but I'd be fighting against them. Maybe it was a blessing.”

“Hey, I didn't approve of everything my mother did. She was selfish and egotistical. She didn't share. She ignored me or forgot about me most of the time. Still miss her, still wanted to avenge her death. Our memories of those we've lost can be complicated. You can miss them and know your paths would've diverged eventually, had they stayed.” Helena used the arm slung around Dinah's shoulders to squeeze her tighter, closer. “I never got the vigilante gig much, always hated that mom did it. It put her in danger and she was a bit of a thrill junky, taking chances she didn't have to take. But once she died, I heard her voice in my head, telling me to help. And looking at it that way, as a community service, I've found my purpose.” Dinah was tracing her fingernails up and down Helena's sternum lightly, drawing a shiver out of her. 

“That's why I do it, too. I know I wouldn't want to be the sweet mafia princess, turning a blind eye to whatever horrid shit my family was bringing into Gotham. But helping others, thwarting the plans of evil guys like Sionis, really helps me feel like I'm doing penance, or at least staking my own claim, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Dinah stared down at her with eyes full of wonder. She leaned down for a kiss, chest pressing to Helena's, skin to skin. She deepened it with a groan, and they were lost to that bed until the next morning came.

\+ + + + +

The next day, it was decided that Helena would go in for her shift at the Black Mask club, to catch up on the goings on. Dinah decided to stay at Helena's to be safe, worried she may have tipped her hand and let Roman know she was involved with the Crossbow Killer in some way. Helena walked in to find the place a mess, the tables turned over on their sides, chairs thrown and broken. She spotted Steve behind the bar and asked him what happened.

“Roman's ambush last night did not go to plan. He's not happy about it,” said Steve.

“That looks like an understatement, Steve. So he threw a tantrum?” Steve nodded. “Are we still opening tonight? Who's cleaning this up?”

Just then, Roman stormed into the bar.

“We're closed tonight. The place is a mess!” he said.

Steve threw his rag on the bar, shrugged to Helena and headed out the door. Helena hung back and watched as Roman kicked a chair, slowly rending it to splinters of wood.

“Fucking Crossbow Killer. Fucking Black Canary,” he muttered as he kicked and threw the bits of chair at the wall. Helena thought she'd seen enough at that point, and followed Steve out of the door.

\+ + + + +

Dinah was cozy in Helena's bed, dressed in one of her t-shirts and lounging while the other woman went into work. She pulled out her phone to call Renee.

“Renee,” she said when the woman picked up. “That was some bad intel you gave me about last night.”

“What do you mean? There was no drop-off?”

“No. Roman spilled the beans an hour before at the club, like the dumb ass evil villain he is. It was an ambush. He had the dirty cops drop some incorrect details at the precinct, and they were going to be waiting for us with an arsenal. I was able to get to Huntress before she could show up, and luckily we didn't go.”

“Oh, Dinah. I'm so sorry. Now Roman must know you've got at least one cop of your own on the inside, if he didn't already.”

“Not your fault, Renee. We were all duped. I just don't know what to do now. I ran out of the club right away to find Huntress and maybe raised some suspicions,” said Dinah, fingers nervously toying with the comforter on Helena's bed.

“I'd say it's time to take Sionis down. You two up for it?”

“You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Alanis Morrisette's "All I Really Want"


	7. We Are a Brutal Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Hope everyone enjoys, and thanks for reading!

The women met Renee the next day, this time at a new coffee shop closer to Helena's apartment, just to be safe. They weren't going to leave until they had a plan for taking down Sionis.

“Renee, this is Helena. Helena, Renee,” Dinah introduced the two women.

“Crossbow Killer, in the flesh,” said Renee, shaking Helena's hand. 

“It's Huntress, but you can call me Helena.” Dinah grinned at Renee over Helena's shoulder. She told her it was Huntress, but some habits die hard. Or maybe Renee was just a little shit who knew exactly what she was doing. That was probably more like it.

“OK, Helena,” said Renee, and they sat down at a table. Helena offered to go grab their drinks and took orders, then left while Dinah just enjoyed the view. Renee caught her gaze. “Damn, you got it bad. She is hot though,” she said.

“Shut up, Renee. And hands off. It was a miracle I found a woman in this town to date who hasn't been through the ringer with you already.”

Renee and Dinah exchanged small talk until Helena came back, carrying a tray with three beverages and two muffins, which she slid, one in front of Dinah, the other in front of Renee.

“Thanks, Killer,” said Renee. She clearly wasn't going to let the nickname go any time soon. Helena bristled at her words but kept her mouth shut. She slid into the chair next to Dinah, and the other woman reached a hand over to squeeze Helena's knee. “So, what's the plan?” asked Renee.

“There's no plan yet, Renee, that's why we're here,” Dinah said, a bit exasperated. Despite brainstorming all night, she and Helena were having the worst time trying to come up with some way to ambush Sionis and take him down.

“Well excuse me, I'm not Robocop. I don't have diagnostics and schematics at the ready,” said Renee. Helena snorted, and Dinah looked at her in surprise. A snort? “That being said, does he have any weaknesses?”

“Killing. Being right. Being an asshole,” said Dinah.

“He likes Dinah a lot. Calls her 'songbird,'” said Helena. Dinah smacked at her leg, giving her a shocked glare. She hoped this wasn't going where she thought it was.

“That's good, but he may suspect her already. Do you think he saw you leave that fast the other night?” asked Renee.

“I'm not sure. He was pretty preoccupied, and I was done with my set anyway. Plus, before I left I blew some smoke up his ass about finally catching the Crossbow Killer. Sorry, babe, no offense.”

“None taken,” said Helena.

“So, no, I'm not certain that he saw me, or that he suspects anything. Better safe than sorry, but he isn't the most astute dude.”

“OK, so we may still be able to use you, if you're comfortable with it,” Renee confirmed. Dinah nodded, begrudgingly. “So the way I see it, we have one option so far, and that's to have Dinah get him alone.”

“Couldn't we just ambush their next ambush?” asked Helena. “Get there before them, take them down?”

“They're liable to be waiting on you before you even know it, and their version of an ambush is to have an artillery ready at the door when you walk in. You wouldn't stand a chance. Well, you might, but a very small sliver of a chance,” Renee said.

“What if we got help?” asked Dinah. “He's not exactly popular amongst our kind of people.” It was true; to most vigilantes and even some other criminals, he was persona non grata.

“Help from who?” asked Helena.

“Harley Quinn and Sionis famously do not get along. I bet she'd help. You're always letting her get away with bags full of money, Dinah, so I'm sure she owes you a few favors,” said Renee, earning a glare from Dinah.

She considered this. “And if we get Harley we also probably get--”

“Poison Ivy,” finished Renee.

Helena was practically beaming with glee at the thought of meeting Poison Ivy. She'd admired her handiwork in the Gotham Gazette for years now. “I think that's a great idea. How do we find them, though?” she asked.

“Well, my intel has them hanging out at an abandoned arboretum outside of town. That's exactly Poison Ivy's kind of gig. We go out there and do our best to talk them into it, I say,” said Renee. “They're a package deal right now, so convincing one of them will convince them both, I hope.”

Helena grinned. She was going to meet Poison Ivy and take down Roman Sionis, and all with Dinah at her side, no secrets between them. And she liked Renee, too. The woman seemed competent and Helena knew how rare a clean cop was in Gotham. She respected her for keeping a strong code of ethics.

They decided to head over that night to find Harley and Ivy. It was the weekend so Dinah had to call in, but didn't want to raise too much suspicion, so figured it would be best to do it just do it once. The next night they'd have to put their plan into action.

\+ + + + +

They pulled up to the arboretum around 9 that night. It was run over with grass, weeds and vines, but you could see the beautiful stone structures, the pathways. It was clear it was being taken care of with love, despite it's overrun quality. The plants seemed to be treated with respect.

They walked up the stone pathway to a little cottage on the grounds where they suspected Ivy and Quinn were hanging out.

“Ivy! Let us in!” Dinah said, pounding on the door. “It's Black Canary.” Dinah had explained to Helena that afternoon that she and Poison Ivy knew each other in passing from busting up a few criminal attempts to disrupt the safety of Gotham. She'd never seen her without her mask, though, so this was one more person to whom Dinah had to out herself.

The door opened to reveal a woman with lightly green-tinged skin and red hair. “What's the password?” she said.

“Please?” said Dinah. That seemed to work because Ivy stood aside to let them in. “We need to make a proposition,” she said from the safety of the carpet in the front room of the cottage.

“Why aren't you like 50 years old?” asked Ivy, looking curiously at Dinah. “You've been kicking ass in Gotham since the '80s.”

“That was my mom. She died. I took over. Move past it.”

“OK, so what brings you here, Canary? And who are these ladies?” Ivy asked, arms folded over her chest. There was no sign of Harley yet.

“Is Harley here?” Dinah asked.

“In the back.”

“Well can we talk to her too?”

With a sigh, Ivy unfolded her arms, cupping her hand around her mouth to shout, “Hey, Harley! Visitors!”

They heard a delighted squeal and soon Ivy had an armful of Harley Quinn. “Yeah, babe?” She asked the woman.

“Black Canary is here with some friends. Says she has something to ask us,” said Ivy.

“Harley, Ivy, this is Helena, also known as the Crossbow Killer--”

“Huntress. I'm Huntress,” asserted Helena, cutting Dinah short.

“Right, Huntress. I was getting there, babe. And this is Renee Montoya, the only clean cop in Gotham.”

“Nice to meet you gals,” said Harley. “Now why are you here?”

“We want to take down Roman Sionis,” said Renee. “Tomorrow.”

Harley squeaks with glee, clapping her hands together. She threw herself on Ivy. “Oh, Ives, we've been wanting to do that for so long!”

“That's true,” said Ivy. “I hate that motherfucker. But why now?”

“He's been after Helena. She killed Victor Zsasz, and we keep busting up Sionis's drug deals.”

“You killed Zsasz?” asked Ivy in awe. 

Harley nodded her head along to Ivy's words. “Yeah, bad dude. Good job, Killer!” she said.

Helena blushed deeper. She was already wearing a deep rouge in her cheeks just from the excitement of being around these icons. “My pleasure,” she mumbled.

“So we need to keep her safe, and I may have tipped my hand to him. He's probably suspicious that I'm Canary. Plus, he's bringing drugs into Gotham, chemical weapons. He's trying to expand his empire. There are too many reasons. Are you in or not?” asked Dinah.

“I'm in!” Harley yelled. Ivy didn't look as convinced. “C;mon, Ives, do it for me. I hate that guy. He's too much of a wildcard.”

“He's got chemical weapons coming into Gotham. Who knows how those are made, or how they 'll affect the environment,” Renee goaded.

“Fine. But only because Harley wants to and I have nothing better to do. Not because I want to help, necessarily,” Ivy said.

“Good. Let's work out a plan,” said Renee. “Got anything to drink?”

\+ + + + +

Dinah decided to go back to Helena's that night, but they stopped at Dinah's first to pick up a few things. Helena insisted on bringing her crossbow, “just in case.” Dinah can't deny that it's kind of cute, but they could handle themselves with or without the crossbow. At least she didn't carry a bow and arrow. Dinah didn't know if she could vibe with that, but then Helena would grin at her and she was certain Helena could be the Nerf Killer and she'd still like her.

“I like your place,” said Helena as they entered, her crossbow hanging at her side. She took in the photos of Dinah and her mom, the record player, the messy couch, and filed it away in the back of her mind as just one more thing to know about Dinah. It was a quickly growing file.

“Thanks. Sorry it's so messy,” said Dinah.

“I don't care. At least you own things,” Helena said with a small smile. 

“Hey, you own things. Mostly weapons,” Dinah said, matching Helena's smile with one of her own. “Maybe we can go shopping for some more home furnishings for you when this is all over.”

Helena was silent for a moment, just smiling warmly at Dinah. “I'd like that,” she said.

Dinah rushed around, gathering clothes and her Canary outfit, her toothbrush and phone charger. Helena busied herself looking at photos, keeping one ear tuned to the outside to stave off any possible intruders.

“This is your mom, right? You look just like her,” Helena said, holding up a framed photograph of a women smiling.

“That's her,” said Dinah. She put her bag down and walked over, taking the photo from Helena's hands and regarding it. “She always said I look like my dad, but since I never knew him, I have to agree. I look just like her.”

“That's a compliment. She's beautiful,” said Helena. “But you're more beautiful.”

“Charmer,” said Dinah, smacking at Helena's elbow.

“You enjoy it.”

“Mm, you're not wrong.” Dinah leaned up on her toes to give Helena a quick peck. Helena, ready for the move, scooped Dinah into her arms and pressed their bodies together, giving her a much longer kiss. Dinah took the initiative to deepen it, tongue sweeping across the other woman's lips, and entrance was quickly granted. Helena's hands found their favorite perch on Dinah's ass and squeezed a bit, then she used the grip to push Dinah towards the kitchen counter, lifting her up to sit on it, moving in close between her legs. She pulled away, starting work a hickey onto Dinah's neck, hands sweeping across her front. She dragged her fingertips down to Dinah's pants, popping the button loose. Just as she was fitting her hand inside, a car backfired in the parking lot. They shot apart, Dinah suddenly on her feet and Helena at her side with her crossbow raised. In silence punctuated only by their heavy breathing, they waited for something, anything to happen. When nothing came, Helena dropped her crossbow, looking over at Dinah, panting, with her pants open.

Helena laughed a bit. “You look amazing,” she said.

Dinah glared at her, did her pants back up. “Let's get back to yours and finish what we started, huh?” She said.

Helena couldn't agree more.

\+ + + + +

“So let's go over the plan one more time,” said Renee from her perch on Ivy's kitchen counter. Dinah groaned. She was sick of going over this.

“Helena places a call to Roman, spills the beans that she's Huntress as well as the last Bertinelli and that she knows he's been tailing her and would like to work out a deal. Imply the diamond is in the mix. We have him meet us here, at the arboretum. He's going to bring a bunch of goons, but we fight them off, bang boom, then Helena kills him. Easy peasy,” said Dinah.

“We want him to come with all of his lackeys, take them out at once,” said Helena.

“And we're sure he's going to think Helena is dumb enough to give him the diamond?” Asked Dinah.

“He thinks he has a powerful sway over people. His ego is the size of the moon. He's a man. Of course he will,” said Renee.

“I agree with that, for sure,” said Ivy. “Renee's got the right idea. I think he's too braindead to think he won't just waltz in here, fight us all off with a flick of his wrist and walk away with the Bertinelli fortune.”

“He'll think it's just Canary and Huntress, for one,” said Harley. “He ain't gonna see me and Ivy coming!”

“Fair enough. I'm sold,” said Dinah. “Helena?”

“Yeah I think it'll work. I hate talking on the phone, though.” 

“It's OK, babe. We've got a script written. You got this,” said Dinah.

After a round of shots to calm them down, the ladies gathered around the living room while Helena placed the call.

“Roman Sionis?” she said when someone picked up. Dinah could hear the faint gibberish of someone speaking on the other end. “You're going to want to take this call.” A pause; Dinah thought she heard Roman say, “go ahead.”

“The Crossbow Killer you've been looking for is me, Helena Bertinelli.” A beat. “Yes, as in the Bertinelli massacre. I have a proposition for you. You're looking for me, I'm looking to go about my life without you trying to kill me. Let's work something out.” More muffled talking on the other end. Helena nodded. “Be at the old Lochwood Arboretum, just outside of town. That's where I'm camped out. 10 pm, tonight. Bring whoever you want. This should be painless.” Helena hung up. “We should be ready. He may be early, try to get the jump on us,” she said.

“Way ahead of you,” Dinah said, tossing Helena her backpack. Renee snapped on her kevlar vest, checked the magazine in her gun and tapped her side pocket to make sure her brass knuckles were there, nestled by another magazine. Harley stood to the side, contemplating between her mallet and a bat. Deciding on the mallet, she tossed the bat to Dinah, narrowly missing her head. “Fuckin' watch it, you psycho clown!”

“I was never diagnosed with psychosis, actually,” said Harley. Ivy grinned as she donned a deep green leather jacket, and they stood, ready to go, in Ivy's living room. 

“What's the signal for the Canary cry?” Dinah asked.

“You yell 'noodle'!” said Harley. It had been her choice.

“I yell 'noodle,'” said Dinah, rolling her eyes.

They mentally prepared themselves like that for the next hour or so, until they heard tires on gravel.

“He's here,” said Helena. They could hear the sound of at least five cars coming up the drive, doors shutting. Probably more. Helena pulled the curtain back to take a look. “He came prepared.”

“Baby, we got this,” Dinah said, coming up behind Helena at the window and laying a soft hand on her shoulder. “We've done this shit before, and now we have help. You ever seen Ivy in action? It's glorious. And Renee has a whole ass gun! I don't know what'll happen but I think we'll be fine.”

“I know. You're right,” said Helena, leaning back into the touch a bit.

“You lovebirds ready for this?” Renee said from the doorway. It had been decided they'd attack first, leave no space for pretense, just a bunch of blabber from Roman. Get it over with. They all nodded, and Renee opened the door.

Ivy was already manipulating vines behind the men to wrap around the tires of their cars, keeping them there and preventing them from using any of the cars as weapons. They all exited the house, one by one, and Ivy rose up from the ground on a pillar of vines. From that vantage point, she reported below, “Roman's in the middle car, hanging out like the little baby he is.” She sent a vine rocketing through the window of said car, a luxurious retro Rolls Royce, its glass tumbling to the ground like a thousand diamonds. “Don't you know it's bad to leave babies in locked cars?” She watched as Roman cowered, laughed.

A line of goons faced them, meathead after meathead. One broke from the pack and ran at the girls; he was rewarded with a crossbow bolt to the neck, but it broke the dam. A deluge of anger came forth.

Helena shot another bolt into the chest of the next man, and threw a kick at another rapidly approaching goon. She lost Dinah in the commotion, seeing the spike of her baseball bat slice the air from the corner of her eye here and there. She heard Harley's shrieks of glee, the occasional explosion of glitter. Ivy towered from above, asking the vines and trees to do most of the work for her, but it was a beautiful dance of green and red, the way she worked her particular brand of violence. Renee was reliable there at her side, handgun dispelling bullets one after another. They all danced in harmony.

Before the struggle really registered with any of them, a good thirty men were at their feet. A few had run away, but that left just one, still hiding in his car: Roman Sionis.

Helena was the one to do it, they'd decided. He'd tried to steal her fortune, tried to have her killed. It was what she deserved. She stalked over to the car, crossbow at the ready.

“Roman? I think you know where this ends,” she said as she approached. “We were going to come to a deal? The best I can do is you dying and my crossbow doing the killing. That's all I've got.”

“Let's see if we can change that deal, come to an agreement,” Roman begged from the car. Helena grinned.

“I don't think so, Roman.” She kicked aside the passenger's side door, already off its hinges.

Dinah saw the glint of the gun just then, in his hands.

“NOODLE!” she yelled. The ladies all dropped their weapons to cover their ears and, after a heartbeat, Canary released the cry. It shattered the windows on all the cars, and of the little cottage. She'd have to repay Ivy for that later.

But the gun still went off. Roman must have fired it in shock at his eardrums being blown out. Helena went down.

“Helena!” Dinah screamed. She rushed over as fast as her two legs could carry her, sliding down to Helena's slide like she was sliding into home. “Helena?”

The woman in question coughed, gripping her side. Dinah noticed no blood. Helena gulped for breath a bit, then gasped. “I'm fine,” she said finally, voice hoarse. “Bulletproof,” she gestured to her jacket. “Just knocked the wind out of me.”

Dinah let out a wobbly sigh like an old tea kettle, tears on her eyelashes. “You scared the fuck out of me.”

“Is he dead?”

“He's dead alright!” said Harley from above. She was peering into the car. “Nice 'noodle' back there by the way!”

“Yeah, how about my fucking windows?” Yelled Ivy.

“I'll pay to fix those,” said Helena from where she lay on the ground, in Dinah's arms. “Hey, you didn't pass out!” She gaped at Dinah.

“I guess not. You scared me too much, going down like that. I thought he'd gotten you,” she said. She cast a look over her shoulder to see Ivy and Harley trying to patch the windows with quilted vines and leaves Ivy had manipulated together. Leaning down, she kissed Helena, hard, right there in the open, despite all the gore around them. They were finally free. It was worth it all.

\+ + + + +

_Gotham Gazette – Metro_

__

__

New Partnership?

_It appears that after heavy speculation, Black Canary and the Crossbow Killer, who we now know to be Huntress, have taken the town by storm in a partnership for the ages. The two were spotted busting up a robbery downtown again, and word on the street is that they took down Roman Sionis, though we're keeping that hush-hush for now. All we know is that these two vigilantes are incredibly close, being spotted almost every night this week working their magic on criminals all across town... and in matching outfits, no less! We can't wait to see what they do next._

\+ + + + +

Helena was so happy to have found Dinah. Without her, nights had been lonely, and her missions even lonelier. Now she had someone there, day and night, to have her back. It was a relief like she'd never known.

The two had opened the Black Mask club back up, secretly, so as not to draw suspicion that two much-targeted vigilantes now owned a bar. They hired Renee to run it after she quit the force, tired of the dirty cops and realizing she could do more helping out Dinah and Helena. She still had a few contacts down at the precinct and was able to get them intel on the dark underbelly of Gotham, and she even went on missions with them sometimes, her brass knuckles bruising jaws left and right. Dinah had talked Helena into matching outfits, to really be a team. The costumes hung next to each other in the same closet in their now shared apartment. 

“Babe!” yelled Dinah from the kitchen. “Your pot is boiling!”

Helena ran from their bedroom back to the stove, where she reduced the heat on her pasta. “You're going to love this carbonara. It's Francis's recipe,” she said, going to the counter to chop up some bacon. 

“You've never cooked anything I hated,” Dinah said. She came up behind Helena and wrapped her arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, drawing a shiver from the taller woman. The smell of frying bacon soon filled their warm apartment, and Dinah sighed in contentment. She and Helena didn't exactly accomplish everything their parents would've wanted for them. If Dinah's mom were in her shoes, she'd prefer to be alone, to suffer as a vigilante, like a martyr. If Helena's parents were still around, they'd want her to live a life of crime, not fight it. They missed their loved ones, and they missed them together. Helena held Dinah on the anniversary of her mother's death while she cried. Dinah took Helena out of town entirely, to a fancy bed and breakfast, to take her mind off the anniversary of her family's death. They were family now, forging their own path. Neither would want it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "So Says I" by The Shins


End file.
